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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659741">The army of Americas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_of_Purgatory/pseuds/Eye_of_Purgatory'>Eye_of_Purgatory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempt at Humor, Family Dynamics, Flashbacks, Fluff, Forgiveness, Humor, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Personified States, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Revolutionary War, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, chaotic - Freeform, g8 meetings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:28:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_of_Purgatory/pseuds/Eye_of_Purgatory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was getting to that England! U-h I think we should continue on the same path! My troops are doing just well in their fight against terrorism because I’m the Hero!” Quickly he walks to sit down at his seat, letting the other nations groan at his obviously unprepared speech. All he has to do is get through today, and it hurts. He feels his phone buzz at his side and hopes with all of his sanity that this could be his saving grace.</p><p>A story where the US states are personified and are Alfred’s children. Their lives are centered around sibling rivalries and petty conflict, but when Iowa dresses like his father and accidentally ends up at a g8 meeting everything changes. And nobody is spared.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America (Hetalia) &amp; USA States (Hetalia), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The tension is on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I really hope you like this, and I will try to update!<br/>Here are the states names in case you forget:<br/>California - Callie<br/>Iowa - Ian<br/>Hawaii - Lilo<br/>Alaska - Andrew<br/>Oklahoma - Olive<br/>Texas - Austin<br/>Nevada - Ned<br/>West Virginia - William<br/>Virginia - Ginny<br/>New York - Alexander<br/>Massachusetts - Abigail<br/>Pennsylvania - Phillip<br/>Washington DC - George</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Come on Ian!,” Callie yells into the closed door, waiting for the personification of Iowa to answer her calls, “We need to get you out there before Dad notices anything’s up.” She looks back and forth the hallway, checking to see if any of the other states are watching her. It’s only William watching her from outside of Ginny’s door, but Callie knows full well neither of the Virginias care about the western states rivalry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I agreed to this. Can you help me?” Ian’s worried voice appears from the room, muffled. With that California opens the door, flopping down on the bed beside a very distressed Ian. The room is currently incredibly messy, but the bed is covered in an array of very similar clothing. The walls are coated with posters, diagrams, and papers relating to NASA and recent discoveries in space. Due to this a large square poster of the curiosity rover takes up the whole space on the door, which Callie looks at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, definitely. Gotta make sure you look extra dapper.” Callie stands up next to her brother, running hair gel in his hair to get it to flatten slightly more so it looks less like a rats nest and more like their dad’s, but carefully avoiding flattening his cowlick. While Ian looks near identical to their dad, the siblings still look quite similar. Both with the same straw blonde hair and tall face, but Callie has brown eyes where Ian’s are blue, and slightly darker skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I really have to wear the heels?” Ian mumbles, looking down at the giant black platform heels that raise his 5’7” stature to his father’s 5’11” height, but he still has to look up to Callie who usually towers over him at 6 '1". He hates the heels not only for the reason that they make him look ridiculous, but also because the shoes are Callie’s that she uses to feel taller than Austin and do not fit Ian in the slightest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are a lot shorter than Dad, do you want them to notice so quickly?” Callie steps back to look with fresh eyes, looking over the slightly too plump face, and the nervous look that paints his face. Satisfied, she places a pair of glasses on Ian’s face that from far enough away look like the pair deemed Texas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re going to notice anyways.” Callie ignores his groans in order to re-mess up the shirt and belt buckle, it won’t be a good disguise if it’s too neat, will it? The tie makes Ian look a bit older, closer to Dad’s age of 19 than the pair’s age of 15.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re dad’s mini me, you look so much like him. Even so, it’s the secret service, if we get an hour of this then we have so many bragging rights over Austin,” Callie can’t help but smirk, she was going to buy a plot of dirt cheap Texas land and build a monument to show how much better she was than Austin, but this feels so much more satisfying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to get in so much trouble.” Ian grumbles, pulling away from Callie fussing with his button down, choosing to practice some of Dad’s faces in the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No we’re not. Dad loves pranks.” Her voice trails off as she checks her phone, looking through the ungodly amount of notifications from the states discord channel, before looking back up at Ian, “Anyways, he caught me with weed like a month ago and wasn’t annoyed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.” Ian checks through his entire outfit to see if he’d missed anything, putting on a pair of his dad’s spare gloves to complete the picture. Ian is actually quite proud of how similar to America he looks, just a little scruffier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, all you have to do is walk with confidence, put some of that acting in there.” Callie checks her phone a few more times as Ian stands and fidgets with the outfit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My voice isn’t as deep as his.” Ian grumbles, now more obvious than ever that he was regretting promising a favor to Callie, he should have known she wasn’t going to ask him to do her taxes or something mundane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Puff out your chest and speak as deep as you can. I heard dad used to do that when he was your age.” Callie puffs up her chest and struts around the room, “Like this,” She says in a very fake sounding deep voice that starkly contrasts her high fast paced normal speech. She sits back down and talks again, “But your voice is already deeper than mine, and if it worked for dad it could work for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who told you?” Ian can’t possibly fathom how Callie would have known that, they aren’t allowed to even see anybody who could have possibly known Dad when he was a kid. And Ian has a strong suspicion Dad doesn’t write journals. Curiosity will get the better of him, and Callie knows just how to push his buttons, even if Iowa and California are completely unrelated their personifications are strongly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I tell, you cant tell anyone Ian.” Callie’s voice turns serious and that only makes Ian more intrigued, even though the walls are too thick for other people to hear them speak, she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise!” Ian states, awkwardly sitting down on the bed in the disguise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pinky?” In this house a pinky promise always takes a more sinister turn, Dad forbids any of the younger states from making them -now that only applies to the five youngest states- and due to the constant lying and breaking of promises it isn’t an unusual circumstance to see a grumbling pinky-less nation. It doesn’t do much harm, taking only a few days to heal for some of the more powerful states, and taking at most a couple of weeks for the least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Iowa says solemnly, interlocking their pinkies in a cruel mirror of what kids do all around their respective states, California meets his gaze and smiles conspiratorially.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Ned got a tape of one of the g8 meetings, they’re practically worse at agreeing than us. Anyways when England was teasing dad he told everyone dad had to puff out his chest to have a deep voice.” Ian wants ask how Ned got a video of the meetings they weren’t allowed to be anywhere near, and weren’t even told the day of. He’s pretty sure it was gotten by gambling, Ned is the personification of Nevada after all. But before he can even think to ask Callie any of this there is a loud knock on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both quiet, hoping the other will go away, but the knocking gets only louder and more annoying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Callie elbows Ian in the ribs to get him to respond, “Who’s there?” he calls out in a yell that is almost a yelp. Before he even finishes the sentence Callie elbows him again, “Fuck off.” he yells, hoping that’s the response Callie wanted and she wasn’t going to elbow him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Don’t be so mean. It’s me Andrew, let me in!” Ian elbows Callie in the ribs for revenge, and Callie takes that as an indication she should get the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah no problem.” Callie calls out, standing up and ushering their little brother into the room quickly as he holds an armful of fabric. Andrew is the eight year old personification of Alaska, the only state younger than him is the seven year old personification of Hawaii, Lilo. Both of which have a strong attachment to Callie and tend to follow her around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got Dad’s jacket?!” Ian practically shouts, leading to Callie shushing him and Andrew mimicking Callie. Callie takes the bomber jacket from Andrew’s grip and places it on Ian’s shoulders, reluctantly he takes it and slips it on over the rest of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmmhm. Can’t make much of a disguise without it.” Callie mumbles, looking at him with scrutiny as Ian fumbles with the bulky coat. When he gets it on all the way Callie adjusts the collar so the fur is right side up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I do well Cali?” Andrew asks, jumping up and down at Callie’s side until she pays attention, kneeling down so they’re about the same height. Andrew is incredibly tall for an eight year old, about the height of an average middle schooler, so Cali has no doubt that Andrew will be taller than her one day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did so well! Is Lilo still distracting dad?” Callie ruffles his hair -the same hair both of them have- and smiles. Andrew’s violet eyes make him look incredibly similar to the photos of uncle Mattie she’s seen around the house, even paler skin that matches. Callie’s gotten in an argument with Ned a few times over it though, because Andrew is the only one to have violet eyes he thinks Andrew must've gotten them from Russia, but Callie thinks he probably got them from uncle Mattie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh” Andrew nods with bubbling enthusiasm, “Lilo got him to play candy land with her! And- and she got dad to think it's Sunday, isn’t that so cool!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Soooolid.” Callie says with a long drawn out ‘o’ sound, then stands back up and looks at Ian, “You don’t look right, you need to put on more shirts under this.” Callie’s phone buzzes a few times, but she is more engrossed with near obsessively perfecting the disguise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s already so warm!” Ian groans, taking off the coat at Callie’s insistence, laying it carefully down on the bed so it doesn’t wrinkle. Even if Callie is used to this type of heat Iowa is far colder, and the amount he has on already is making him sweat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop your whining.” Callie catches a shirt Andrew throws at her and places it around Ian’s shoulders, letting Ian button it up “I’ll let you pet my kitten if you act more like dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really! You have a cat, oh my god I want to see!” Ian’s eyes go wide and he talks quickly, everybody knows that they’re not allowed to get pets without asking Dad, and he usually says no. The only pets that he says yes to are the ones that aren’t fun, because a few of their siblings have allergies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I see too? Please Callie?” Andrew begs, essentially screams in joy at the news until Callie shushes him. He replaces the screaming with grabbing onto Callie’s waist, making it particularly hard for her to adjust the coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if dad doesn’t figure out before we leave, go distract him.” Callie states, and with that Andrew runs out of the room so quickly he doesn’t close the door completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you get a kitten?” Ian questions as Callie stands up to close the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad got Alex an ID that says he’s eighteen, the lucky bastard, probably caus Wall street is soooo important. I could pass for eighteen too. Anyways when we were playing poker with Ned he lost, and I asked him to get me a cat.” By this time she has already flopped back down on the bed and is checking her phone. “Fair and square.” Callie hands him her phone opened to a picture of the kitten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’d you name him?” Ian asks, looking at the adorable kitten that is red with white paws. In the photo a smiling Callie is holding the kitten next to Alex who looks happier than usual. Ian hands the phone back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hamilton, ya know, cause a’ New York delegate.” Ian can’t help but snicker at Callie’s Hamilton obsession, “Shut up, he got me the cat, suits it that I should name him after the guy.” Callie seems to be flat out the state who is saddest to not be one of the thirteen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tone of the room breaks at the faint horn of a car outside, Callie suddenly seems nervous while Ian is dreading. Her phone buzzes with a text from Olive:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Olive:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>They’re here for dad, is Ian ready?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, we have to get you out of here. Smile! Uhh I’ll try to distract everyone, like hopefully they won’t notice. Uhh I’m texting Olive to get over here so she can help.” Callie quickly texts a reply to their sister, who happens to be the personification of Oklahoma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Callie:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Yeah we’ll get out soon. Can you join us?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D-do I look alright?” Ian stutters, his chest puffed out enough so he sounds a lot more like Dad, face plastered with a giant strained smile. Callie’s nerves make her both want to laugh and cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Olive:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ya!</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like a hero!” Callie yells, putting an arm around him and trying her best to shield his face from their siblings as they walk by. She can almost swear that the Virginias -who are now playing cards on the floor- know something is up. Ian is shaking not enough to see but just enough for Callie to feel with her arm on his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walk in silence, Ian trying his best to get used to the enormous bulky heels that are staying on with just willpower and bulky socks. Callie switches sides to block him from view whenever she hears a group around the corner. This time when she looks her face is paper white and her expression is pained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Austin and his goons are around that corner, wait until I distract ‘em!” She whispers into his ear, walking around the corner into the very loud living room full to the brim with bravado. All Ian can hear is Callie shouting, “Hey asshat, heard you were talking shit ‘bout me!” The room goes quiet and Ian doesn’t know if this is when he should walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn right I was, I think the rest of us need to know how superficial you are.” Austin boasts, enough for Ian to see the Texas pride bleed through the walls. Ian usually stays far enough away from the pair fighting, and this is no different. But then he hears the unmistakable sound of a punch being thrown, along with a groan of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell!” He hears Austin shout, spurring Ian into a quick walk, “You bitch!” Ian sees the fistfight out of the corner of his eye, walking quicker when he remembers Callie is doing this to distract them. But Austin’s face is burned into the back of his eyelids, taller even than Callie and face painted with rage, Austin contorts the eyes he got from dad into something truly terrifying. Both with even tanner skin than dad they are a matching pair, the main visual differences being that Austin’s hair is brown where Callie’s is wheat blonde.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ian’s heart pounds without Callie at his side to shield his face from the others, luckily none of them give more than a cursory look at him. The house is far emptier than it usually is, most of the states still asleep at 9am.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey dad!” An unexpected shout causes Ian to jerk back in fright,but he looks and sees that it’s Olive. Ian can’t help but hate how the twelve year old girl thinks the most fun way to greet people is to sneak up behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh, don’t draw attention to me.” Ian whispers, resuming the walk to the door while Olive follows close behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” She chirps, bouncing around the hallway greeting anyone who passes by, which works surprisingly well at distracting them all from Ian. When they get to the door Ian pauses, hand on the handle but seemingly unable to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have fun!” Olive shouts like she usually would as dad leaves, and Ian turns the handle, looking outside at the black limousine with little american flags bedazzling it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah,” Ian mumbles, looking out at the solemn secret service members, gathering up the courage he shouts the most American-like response he can, “I’ll have the most fun!” Olive gives him the thumbs up as he steps outside, closing the door behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Jones.” One of them greets, opening the door for Ian to get in. Ian sits inside the limousine, memories of going into work with dad rushing in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you!” Ian shouts before the car door is closed completely, drawing a small smile from the man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like Alfred intended to keep his children a secret from the world, not even Matthew knew about them, let alone England. But each time he tried to tell England about his children the words would die on his tongue. Alfred would go up to England, fully intending to tell his brother about his children, but, well. And no matter how much he wanted to tell Matthew something tugged at him, persuaded him that Arthur should know first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But one look at Arthur’s disappointed and impatient face always had the confession turn to ash in his mouth. Each time had Alfred deciding not to bother the empire, excusing himself with a never mind and dashed hopes. Each time without fail Alfred would go back to the secret wing of the house and see the thirteen young children running around without a care in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The revolution dashed his hopes of a peaceful meeting, the kids were preteens at this point, but with raging desires to be independent. Abigail was the first to decide, with the British troops in Massachusetts she was testy, but the Boston massacre left her with a scar from a bullet that grazed her cheek and burning hatred. But before she gave herself to burning hatred she supported the sons of liberty to protest the heavy hand of the British government.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was when Alfred became a revolutionary too, reading pamphlets, going to speeches, events, protests all under Arthur’s nose. He felt like he was betraying his brother, but he knows how much more he would be betraying his children if he did nothing about the bruises Abigail got every day from the British occupation of Boston.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even when he was in the room with Phillip prouder than he could express with how the continental congress was in Pennsylvania, his state, Alfred never truly expected to break away from the British empire. But what changed his mind was not the shot heard around the world, the first battles, it was earlier.</span>
</p>
<p><span>It was when his son, New York, changed his name from Arthur to Alexander in 1775, deeming the connection to the british personification too much. Alfred knew that his son was a revolutionary, that he would come home and boast about the actions of his patriots, but the name change hit him like a brick. New York attached his name to Alexander Hamilton, infatuated by the young revolutionary from “</span> <em><span>A Full Vindication of the Measures of Congress</span></em><span>” and wasn't satisfied until he knew the elusive anonymous writer personally.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>So with all of that Alfred decided to hold off telling England about his children until after the revolutionary war. And with his firm determination that England should be the first one to know standing strong, his states were kept a secret from his allies. Some part of him thinking that the next time he would see England he would tell him everything, but Alfred didn’t see Arthur until the outbreak of the war of 1812, on the battlefield with thoughts of reconciliation out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even during the war Alfred thought that he would tell England at the end of this, that he would end off the peace treaty saying, “Hey England, my states are my children!”, but he quickly changed his mind at the screams of unimaginable pain. While Washington DC burnt Alfred’s heart, it was nothing in comparison to the pain from his tiny three year old son George screaming as his very skin bled. Alfred was convinced his son would die in his arms that night, they got out of the fire but George forever had the scars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the end of the war Alfred asked his children if they wanted to tell the nations about their existence, deciding that as everything should be voted upon this should be too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every single one of them said no.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re here Mr. Jones.” Ian had been growing more and more worried as they entered the US capitol complex and drove right past the white house where he knows his dad usually works. They’re parked right in front of a building that he has never seen before, full of enlightenment era architecture and white stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh, which room is it again?” He asks the secret service member, stepping out of the car and looking at the imposing building. Dread forms a pit in his stomach as he reads the cryptic sign, ‘Center of International Diplomacy’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Third to the right down the main hallway.” The man explains, and follows Ian up to the door of the building, a silent option to have him lead the way to the office still there, but Ian doesn’t want to arouse unnecessary suspicion among his father’s coworkers. He remembers the instructions that were given.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“Yeah, yeah I remember.” Ian lies, obviously not fooling the secret service man as a small smirk paints his face before leaving him to his own devices. As he walks through, Ian waves to the secretary, smiling a giant toothy smile as his body rushes with adrenaline at the deception.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure are early mon ami, are we sure you’re the same Amerique?” Ian’s heart nearly gives out as he sees his worst nightmare come to life, he didn’t disguise himself to go to a regular day, and he wants to curse Callie for getting him to do this. Out of his peripheral vision he can see the rest of the nations, and all of them seem to be looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“Yeah, yeah of course! I’m just early today is all.” He barely stutters out the words over his hyperventilation, oh fuck he hopes the nations won’t notice this. Each beat of his heart assures him that this is real, that he really is standing here. He wants to cry.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright? Your voice sounds strange.” The nation he assumes is France asks, he knew that the puffing up his chest trick Callie told him wouldn’t work, oh god he must sound ridiculous. It’s ruined, they’re going to find out and know about the states and he would have ruined everything oh oh god.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I -uh- drank really hot water this morning, coffee coffee. Boiling! Caus Heros wait for nothing!” Heroes! Hopefully if he just mentions heroes enough they’ll get annoyed and stop talking to him, but the words die in his mind as he knows America is the host of today’s meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you did America, I guess that checks off the ‘America is an idiot’ box from the bingo sheet for this week. It’s a free space though, not one day it doesn’t get checked.” A man with a British accent calls out from a chair close to them, causing the anxiety coursing through his body to get worse, vibrating down his bones and glued to his mind. England knows America too well, he would be able to tell the disguise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Do you want me, t-the Hero, to be early or n-not?” Ian stutters, trying his best to say it loudly like Dad would. Relief washes over him when England doesn’t look up at him at any point, if England just doesn’t see him then there’s no chance of being caught. Right? RIGHT?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is a rare treat when you get here on time, let alone early.” The man drawls, looking at a newspaper as he drinks a disgustingly aromatic tea that makes Ian want to gag, “Hopefully it’s improvement.” Ian would be offended at how mean England seemingly is to his Dad but all Ian can think about is the beating of his heart that resonates up to his brain. It is beating so fast he feels breathless, almost faint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! I’m on the heroic path to success!” Ian shouts, and hopefully nobody decides to look over at him. Luckily he isn’t walking anywhere because with the ill fitting heels and his shaking knees Ian isn’t completely sure that he would be able to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ze meeting is starting America, it is your turn to speak.” Germany states, glaring at Ian in a way that burns his mind, Germany must know, he must be able to see that </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh- yes of course it is!” Ian stands up, feeling the gaze of all of the nations on him now makes his palms sweat. When he sees a man that looks like his dad he tries his best not to freeze, forget about England, uncle Mattie would definitely be able to tell his own twin brother!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Greeting nations of t-the World!” His face hurts from smiling this large and trying not to stumble over his words, “This is America, but you all know that. U-uh Together we can change the world, change will happen and it will be good! I hope that this meeting is successful in doing just uhh that! Now we can continue!” He breathes out, but none of them indicate that he is done talking, so he just kind of stands there for a few moments that seem like years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you forget your notes again? Idiot. You’re supposed to be talking about military intervention.” England mutters, breaking the silence of the room, and Iowa does his best to fight off the impending nervous breakdown. His heart beats in his hears louder than ever, stealing breath away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was getting to that England! U-h I think we should continue on the same path! My troops are doing just well in their fight against terrorism because I’m the Hero!” Quickly he walks to sit down at his seat, letting the other nations groan at his obviously unprepared speech. All he has to do is get through today, and it hurts. He feels his phone buzz at his side and hopes with all of his sanity that this could be his saving grace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Callie:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Have they found you yet? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>This is going to be so good.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>:)</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ian:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Not yet.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels the unapproving gaze of England on his back, and looks up to see a disappointed face. What he doesn’t see is the scrutinizing gaze of Ivan from across the table. So as quickly as he can he tries to explain the situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ian:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>It’s g8 meeting</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t look at his phone as the buzzing feels like an earthquake that rocks through his mind. All he wants to do is run away from the meeting and vomit all the nausea up, but he owes it to the thirteen to hide this. To try not to get suspected, to hide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All Ian can think about through the shaking, through the beating of his heart, through the mind numbing anxiety, is how much of their future is dependent on him. And by god that makes it all so much worse.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2 - They must know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ian is ready for the g8 meeting. Did I say ready? I meant dying on the inside</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ian was always a good note-taker, a chest full of notebooks in a detailed and ornate cursive would attest to that, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t find anything to write down about the meeting. He has all the basics written in an awkward approximation of his dad’s handwriting, clumsy in how it oscillates between a careful cursive and a messy print, but he still doubts anyone would be able to tell from far enough away. He can feel suspicion in the room from somewhere burning in the back of his mind like a forgotten memory, one of the nations is suspecting but he has no idea who.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callie would have been better at this-he thinks-, with the Hollywood acting and how she just seemed to be better at reading auras, but he also knew that the moment she walked into the meeting she would have bailed. England finishes up his utterly boring and repetitive speech where he seems to just repeat in increasingly pretentious ways that the countries with the most pollution output need to use renewable energy. The meeting room goes silent as England steps away from the podium, and with all he has Ian hopes that he won't need to use his Iowan state knowledge to talk about USA politics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utterly boring, don’t you think Amerique? Angleterre could do a little better at keeping his listeners awake, but perhaps that is why he is unable to make friends.” France seems awfully flirty, Ian can’t help but wonder if he is like that to everyone or just to Dad. It doesn’t matter though, the words making him want to curl in on himself, the anxiety over the disguise fading away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh-yea. England is boooring man. Don’t be mean, though.” He chokes out, trying to keep the flush from his face as he gathers notes to his chest, standing up. Iowa’s eyes drift to the other nations in the room, catching the eye of an unidentifiable tall man, but he quickly looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do very well to keep everyone in rapt attention, especially my lovers.” France stands up as well, placing an arm around the nation he believes to be America with mild difficulty. France’s voice slips into a sultry tone that reminds him disturbingly much of whenever ‘Polyon tries to seduce some random civilian he met. Ian wants to laugh, or scream, either would do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh- yeah i guess dude.” The state says while chuckling nervously, looking around the room again and trying to memorize as much of it as he can. A man about Ian’s actual height is loudly chatting with the intimidating man he realized was Germany a bit ago. England is talking with Uncle mattie and a short-ish Asian man who he assumes to be either Japan or China. The same violet eyed man is still there, standing alone, and all Ian can hope is that he is Sweden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That reminds me, you should go to Versailles the next time one of these blasted meetings is in Paris. I can give you a personal tour, if you wish.” France continues with the same tone, but the deep trill it takes brings a bright red flush to Ian’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh I do-n’t think so?” He stutters out, interlaced with a nervous chuckle and deep obvious uncomfort, perhaps this is why France backs off and seems to return to a more platonic tone. But the now all to familiar burst of panic overtakes him again, for just a moment, as he feels eyes on him. Did he do something wrong? Did he break his disguise and ruin everything just through this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>France in front of him doesn’t seem to have noticed anything, but what if this whole thing was simply a way to test his reaction? The man is hundreds of years old, this strange and all too mortal action could never be the one of such a nation, could it? England is still conversing with Canada, but what if he saw the reaction so incredibly unlike dad and knew just on sight. The others would believe England’s word over his own, for sure, and that would mean the end of the precious secret. Now that he thinks about it, how could a former superpower be so unobservant as to not notice this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god, the walls are closing in on him now, Canada surely saw, his uncle Mattie would know his own twin far too much for this to go through! Now that he thinks about it, all the nations around him are so unbelievably old, they should all be catching onto his strange behavior! He’s not even 200 years old, how could he possibly think he could handle this, how, how how, oh god the pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be sure to keep it in mind, oui?” France chuckles, a bright smile overtaking his face that Ian knows MUST be a lie, how could he not see the falsehood present under a foot away. Ian’s knees shook, his heart retook the center stage of hearing as a deep bumping timber. It was all he could do to not hyperventilate, as if all of his failures hadn’t culminated into something large enough to see that would definitely push it over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh sure, I have to go talk to uhh-” he looks around the room to see the tall man he hasn’t been able to identify with white hair waving, “my wonderful friend over there!” His smile is so big it hurts, feeling like the simple act will tear his gums from the skull and leave it to fall out. The room heats up, feeling like tendrils of burning hellfire are wrapping around every limb, pinning him to the ground. Trying, trying to drag him under to meet the consequences of his mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Russia are friends? Since when?” France asks voice heavy with something-Ian knows it must be suspicion-, but by this time he has already turned around to begin the walk towards the other man. The man who he now knows to be Russia, as if this day could get any worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta go,” he shouts over his shoulder in a mockery of cheer, if he must act like a fool for the room of people who see right through him, then he will continue for as long as he can. Every little chance to tear at this and right this he will grab, just like dad would encourage him to do. The burning heat seems to dissipate, the feeling of red hot claustrophobia lessens to the more familiar feeling of the warm stifling layers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Privet Amreika!” Russia greets, with a childish smile and surprisingly innocent looking eyes. Maybe this won’t be so bad-Ian thinks-, Dad was probably exaggerating about who he likes to dub ‘Useless commie bastard who looks like he’s planning my murder’, right? Ian feels himself breathing easier, not having to force uncooperative lungs to simply do, but the deafening beat of his heart continues to garnish everything with a helpful dose of anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey duuude, thanks for letting me get rid of France.” He chuckles, something strange about Andrew’s eyes on Russia both unnerves and calms Ian. As he looks back he notices that the void around France has now been filled by England. If he looks closer he can see that they’re either bickering or yelling at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Da, it is of no problem.” The sudden startling of Russia’s voice being significant closer than he should be makes Ian fall flat onto the floor. The gap between them that had once been six feet is now lessened to about three, lessening as Russia bends over to help him up. As he sees Russia’s eyes again he knows Ned is right in the argument, Andrew definitely takes significantly after this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, how are you doing dude?” Part of why Ian asks this is that he flat out can’t tell, the other half is that his brain has conveniently fizzled out into a fine paste. The silence trails for an incredibly awkward amount of time, building until Ian wants to squirm under the unchanging gaze. </span>
</p><p><span>.</span> <span>“I am good. You forgot your notes, da?” Russia talks just as normal, as if nothing about that had happened at all. Even with the strangeness something about Russia reminds him heavily of his own father, something about the bearing of his stance or maybe the somewhat childish attitude.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yeah that was stupid of m- but It’s no biggie, my skill at improvising is top notch!” He tries to puff out his chest to make the boasting more convincing -as if he wasn’t completely convinced that England, France, and Uncle Mattie know he isn't America- but it almost causes him to tumble over again. He feels exactly like he should, as a child dressing up in his dad’s clothes, but anything is preferable to the unthinking panic that ebbs and flows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sure Amerika.” He sounds oddly patronizing but Ian doesn’t have the time to think about it when his phone rings and is seized with another round of panic. Is he supposed to answer it, or should he ignore everything with unthinking passion?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Midway through the ungodly stupid ringtone that he just realizes now is the ‘Valley Girls’ song that he set for Callie, Russia interrupts the panicking Ian in front of him, “You should answer the phone, da?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The actual straight up answer to his internal debate does a lot to calm him down, before he actually reacts,“Uhh- yeah. I’ll do that, sorry.” he mumbles, and pulls out his phone from his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Alfred F. Jones here!” He answers with the unyielding familiarity of his dad’s greeting burned into his brain. It also serves as his Dad’s answering message for some strange reason, no matter how much any of them ask him to change that. He also manages to step away from Russia, who seemed to be even closer than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, is it not the break right now?” He hears Callie whisper scream into the phone just above the loud background of the house, papers being grabbed, and the loud meow of a kitten. What he does not notice is the fervent eyes staring at his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is, just talking to my friend here!” He laughs over worry, holding the phone to Russia so he can speak as well, but far away enough to not be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Privet.” says Russia, seemingly bemused that he would be asked to greet somebody over a phone call. Ian suddenly spikes with panic, jerking the phone back to his ear so that nobody else can hear the small speaker or see the Caller ID.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God damn it, the nations are talking to you? Is that Russia?” He hears the panicked voice over the line and wants to scream, some part of him that was forgetting the entire cold war blinks back up with the sole intention of adding more fear to his mental cacophony. He looks back and sees Russia’s smile has grown just a minute amount larger, just enough to make him terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. What did you expect from a g8 meeting?” He chuckles, trying not to fall into his own tics and nervous habits. Russia is smiling. He wants to tap his fingers against his leg but would Russia notice that? Iowa doesn’t notice himself tapping his foot though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got Alex here to help you through this, he’s been to one of these.” Callie says, and during the oddly long time it takes them to pass the phone Ian looks at Russia. Russia is smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Has he been doing that the whole time?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice breaks him back to reality, “Ok Ian, you gotta say everything as confident as you can, dad says everything he thinks. Even if it’s stupid. I found the notes that were supposed to be for today’s g8.” There is more paper sounds as Ian’s mind truly processes what has been said-wait how did Alex get into a g8 meeting?- with the vague constant background of yelling somewhere in the house. A bell, some sort of alarm, maybe a buzzer, but something rings and people start to go back to their seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful, I don’t have much time to talk right now.” Iowa nervously whisper talks because Russia has just grabbed his arm in the most intimidatingly gentle way possible. And he is still smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad’s supposed to do a presentation on global intervention in the morning, then later in the afternoon he is in a debate with Russia about the possibility of space travel to mars.” Something is blocking Ian from completely hearing the words, and he has no idea what it is, though he eventually understands all of the words that Alex frantically yells into the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah, thanks. Iv-ve gotta go now!” Ian stutters, as quickly as he can before ending the call under Germany’s harsh gaze, a gaze that reminds Ian most of a very distant memory. Said memory is the farthest back he can recall, the rest before in time is a very fuzzy memory mainly from the consciousness of his state and not his own mind, where he was at most three watching his father at the end of the civil war. But no reason to be thinking of that now, he reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready for the debate soon? I am excited, we get to talk about such wonderful things we haven’t fought about since the cold war! Isn’t that fun?” Russia whispers to him as they sit down in the seats, quiet enough that they cannot be heard over the other nations getting ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah. I left my notes,” Iowa mutters, looking up to see strange looks from England and France, Russia is still smiling. The strange looks that seem to assault him from every side do very little to help the burning pit behind his eyes that was a brain before it melted into a giant radioactive cesspool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is alright, we will just fight on uneven ground.” Russia cheerfully announces, quite loud Ian may add, before heartily slapping Ian on the back. Though Russia does not pull away, resting his arm across Ian’s shoulders, with this Ian decides not to look for the others staring as he knows they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I w-was going to ask who we’re after.” Ian mumbles, trying not to imagine Andrew as an adult, all he can see is a blonde Russia with the attitude of a little kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are going to listen to Germany talk about the standardization of international medical aid, and then it is us.” Russia smiles again, taking his arm away from Ian’s shoulders and taking out notes written in strangely mesmerizingly neat Cyrillic text.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yay!” Ian groans sarcastically, pulling out his notes and doodling on the edges. Tearing through the paper in a futile effort to doodle away the nerves. He almost breaks the pen too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am glad you are excited, we get to debate tomorrow too, da?” Germany stands up, bringing up a power point full of blues and a very incredibly neat style that is so expected, something incredibly calm. </span>
</p><p><span>“I’ll look forward to it.” He whispers back, truly looking forward to the exact moment at which he can walk out of the door, and go back to his house with his siblings that are so annoying but so normal. </span><span><br/></span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>Before he knows it, and far before he’s comfortable with it, Germany stops, “And next is,” Germany states, trailing off into a soft sigh, “America and Russia, debating ze issues of space travel and mars.” Ian stands up, letting the notes from his hands fall back onto the desk, and walking to the podium. It’s not like those notes would have helped him anyways, he was procrastinating on writing anything of help but then ran out of time. Russia follows soon after, still smiling, walking up to the podium right next to Iowa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may start, America first.” Germany says, stilted and rough, before taking out a large and very detailed notebook and sitting down. The tense atmosphere has brought back the worst of it, Ian barely noticed that Germany was talking over the screaming in his own mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I think that we need to increase the funding to NASA, caus mars is crazy wicked dude!” Ian chuckles, but the room tenses, an unbreakable tension, Russia starts to laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silly Amerika, that is not what you are supposed to be arguing for!” Russia coos, and smiles, staring into Ian’s eyes as panic resurfaces like a breaching whale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I apologize, but I was getting to it.-” Ian feels his foot tapping against the ground, his fingers tapping, scratching, but he can’t seem to stop the surge of nervous ticks that burn. The room is quiet, his throat dries up and before he can even finish a sentence Russia is back and talking again,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that means I win, da? Without your silly lies with you I shine as true victor.” The other nations start to mutter at Russia’s words, and Ian debates if it would negate any suspicion for him to just run out of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the better way to do things is to encourage the private companies, so that we encourage growth in the private sector. We need to leave things as it is,” the door looks more inviting as Ian’s mind burns with random snippets of his dad talking, “And we need to get to the moon as quick as possible, but that barely counts.” He chuckles, rushing the rest of the words until they almost plop out of his mouth in a wet blob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I win!” Russia cheers, smiling the same smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But w-” Ian stutters, but before he can fit even a word out there Russia is talking again, and he can’t seem to talk over Russia even so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not Amerika, you are impostor, therefore I win!” The world stops, Ian can’t think, did he hear that? Russia gives the strongest most devilish smirk he has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha-” Ian stumbles, having to catch himself on the podium as the room seems to close in. Russia seems to get so much closer even though he stands still, the room feels sweltering like a room in hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not Amerika’s phone!” He chuckles, holding up Ian’s phone, complete with the stupid case that he never took off after Wyatt convinced him to put it on his phone, before vanishing to Wyoming for the rest of the year. The case was superglued to the phone, but even so he probably wouldn’t of taken it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes it is, give it back.” Ian demands, stepping over to Russia to hope that if he reclaims it everything will be forgotten, how did Russia even get it anyways?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does not open to any of Amerika’s fingerprints.” Russia tells him off in the most patronizing way, “Tell us where he is and I won’t remove your frontal lobe.” And the tone bounces back up to the creepy joy. He looks back over at the door that he is definitely the closest person to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Russia what kind of joke is this, this is clearly Amerique.” France yells, standing up in a sort of offense. He tries to drag England up with him but the older man only mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that he says, America looks a bit off.” England finishes speaking, but nobody else seems to try to defend Ian, just looking as it goes down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, my election cycles are making me ill so I look a little strange!” Ian says, regretting it immediately because how could he say something so unbelievably stupid, they would know for sure now!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not the code Amerika takes notes in.” Russia holds up a packet of notes, Ian looks back to see that his seat is devoid of the papers that should have been there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t need to take notes in code today.” Ian states, maybe if he were more confident they’d believe him? He wants to remove parts of his brain until he can find what made him stupid enough to agree to do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take off shoes.” Russia points at Ian’s feet, but he notices the pant legs aren’t revealing the high heels because of how long and over sized they are on Ian. To be completely honest, the pants look ridiculous because Callie never got around to making him wear more pants under the pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what?” Ian nearly yelps, Uncle Mattie stands up, though nobody seems to notice. Nobody responds to Ian’s pleading looks, though Russia does smile and walk closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take off shoes and I will end your life with the magic metal pipe of pain.” Russia grins, holding out a rusty metal faucet that he had somewhere,  “I mean or.” And resting the faucet on Ian’s head. It is surprisingly rough, the rust incredibly abrasive against his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” Ian chuckles nervously, trying to back away from under the pipe. Though before he can get far enough away to even think about running Russia grabs him by the collar. Still smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take them off.” When Russia insists again, under the anxiety, under the nerves, under the massive metal rusty pipe on his head, Ian cracks. He bends over and takes off the heels,returning to stable legs and a normal height feeling more defeated than he ever has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amerique? Why are you so short!” France yelps, standing up like the rest of the nations and gathering closer to Ian. Germany looks near offended, Canada looks worried, the Asian man he never was able to identify looks concerned, England looks shocked, France looks surprised, Italy looks the same as he has for the rest of the meeting asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Mr. America get turned into a child?” Iowa recognizes the accent, and realizes the man is Japan, but that will not help him now. Nobody will help him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you idiots, this is not Amerika. Who are you?” Russia bends down to look him right in the eyes, the eyes that feel as if he has stolen them from Andrew. The eyes he doesn’t want to look into but cannot look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My n-name is Ian.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was way more difficult to write than the last chapter, I hope y'all like it, or at least don't stop reading because of this chapter.  Tell me if you like it, and I'll try my best the next chapter. Fic requests are fun as hell to write so I'm still down for that, check out some of my other works if you liked this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3: The dam breaks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The countries find out that Ian is one of America's states.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll try to release more chapters, I mean to release regularly. If I stop updating for a bit know that it's probably because the self doubt fairy is screaming in my ear whenever I open the google doc for this fic.<br/>Here are the names if people forget.<br/>California - Callie<br/>Iowa - Ian<br/>Hawaii - Lilo<br/>Alaska - Andrew<br/>Oklahoma - Olive<br/>Texas - Austin<br/>Nevada - Ned<br/>West Virginia - William<br/>Virginia - Ginny<br/>New York - Alexander<br/>Massachusetts - Abigail<br/>Pennsylvania - Phillip<br/>Washington DC - George<br/>Wyoming - Wyatt<br/>Idaho - Edith</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Why do you look like America?” England shouts, making Ian further want to curl into a ball and fade away. Maybe he can save this, but he has no idea how. The other nations are looking at him from everywhere in the room, even Italy has woken up and started to stare at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you, Ian?” Japan mumbles, looking over at Ian from across the room. Canada stands up, staring at Ian in silence. His feet are incredibly cold on the tile floor, having taken his socks off as well in the rush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zis is a breach of national security, vee need to deal with this. Who are you.” Germany states in such a neutral voice, moving closer to look at Ian. When Germany steps forwards the other nations take this as indication that they should crowd him as well, but even so they don’t get closer than a foot away from him. As if he is radioactive, or dangerous. Though Russia stands the same, staring at his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open,” Russia demands, pressing Ian’s own phone into his grip with a faux delicacy, “I will break into your phone if you don’t.” Russia coos, letting a creepy smile envelop his face as he cradles the pipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing? I'll tell you guys who I am.” Ian says, holding the phone closer to him similar to how Russia holds his pipe. He is suddenly very glad that he isn’t moving, because when Ian taps his feet against the ground they threaten to tangle with the ever so long pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vee can’t just let you go.” Germany grunts, letting Ian turn his head to look over at the taller man. Unlike other nations Dad has never mentioned the one in front of him, and all he knows about Germany is what is right before his eyes. Russia taps the top of his head, reminding Ian enter the pass code before handing the phone and it’s stupid case to Russia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well why not, just let me leave and tomorrow D-” Ian catches his words, but the other still notice the stumble,  “America will be here, for sure.” Italy starts to poke at the back of his jacket and it takes all he has to pay it no mind, “C’mon please.” Ian groans, but the other nations do not heed his plea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The person calling you earlier was named Callie, da?” Russia asks, scrolling through something in his phone that gives him the chills. Even though he knows almost everything personal is hidden behind different accounts and apps, but personal is what the States don’t know. Everything to the nations here is personal, and Ian can’t help but hope they don’t scroll through the camera roll and immediately find out exactly who he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ian grumbles, staring at the phone as Russia continues to scroll, before resting it on the podium as it starts to call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not talk.” Russia orders everyone, though especially Ian, as the phone continues to ring. Ian takes a look and notices both that it is calling Callie -He hopes Russia didn’t notice the California flag on her contact or that he thinks nothing of it- and that it is on speaker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Oh, Ian! I got Dad’s notes,” Callie starts to talk immediately as she picks up and Ian wants to force both of them to face plant. The rest of the nations seemingly recoil at the simple word ‘Dad’, some of them putting together the dots in front of Ian's eyes, “do you need me to read ‘em out. Like, you’re done with it though right?” Ian likes to believe that he would interrupt and stop her from spilling information just if the pipe was not still being held threateningly, but he still doubts he would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give the phone to your father.” Russia coos, and the whole room goes so quiet that it hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Callie nearly shouts, rising the nations to a verbal raucous as they start to argue. Over the phone Ian can also hear the arguments of his siblings echoing through the walls, maybe one of the east coast states decided to start another argument about football.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Callieeeeeeeeee.” Ian groans, not really remembering that he wasn’t supposed to talk, but very aware that he wanted Callie to follow Russia’s orders. At his voice the rest of the nations seem to quiet, maybe they remembered that he was a kid, Ian hopes so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey you got farther than we thought ya would, yeah?” Callie’s voice turns calmer and more mature, as it does whenever she feels guilty. Then she goes quiet, with only the ambient sounds of calming screaming going through the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are bringing the phone to your father, da?” Russia asks, breaking the silence of the phone call in a terrifying way, one that implies … things … if she wasn’t. Ian looks over to the nations, a stone faced England, a shocked France, a vivaciously curious Italy, a sternly worried Germany, a very concerned Japan, and Canada with his face pressed into a bear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The house is not exactly small, asshole.” Callie grits out, almost as if she’s trying to prevent herself from screaming. Russia looks satisfied with the response and turns to smile at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you go Dad, you have a caller.” Callie says, softly as if she is far from the phone and almost completely muffled by the sounds of some sort of movie. Ian swears he can hear Alexander protesting in the background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Callie,” Dad seemingly yells into the phone,  “Hey Alfred F. Jones here, whadya want?” he cheerfully greets, the relative calm in the storm of a chaotic household. When Ian focuses on the background of the house he can hear the sounds from Snow White the movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know about your children.” Russia says with a cheery tilt, and the rest of the nations have quieted again to hear the response, though France and England were still whispering to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, jeez, well y’all were gonna find out bout the states anyways I guess. This is a bit late but yeah.” Dad chuckles, and the room was so quiet a pin drop would be a jump scare, the sound coming solely from the phone as muffled Disney singing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“States?” England asks, sheet white and eyes wide, voice almost trembling. Ian looks around to see the rest of the nations with varying and almost as severe reactions..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha-” Dad talks but stops himself, probably to listen to an irate Alexander, “You didn’t know?” he asks after a few moments with the movie silenced and replaced by loud children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vee did not.” Germany mumbles, staring at the phone as if it personally offended him. Most of the other nations have taken to looking at Ian, though he highly doubts any of them know or care about the state of Iowa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Welp, guess you want to meet the states then. I'll head over there now, it’s not a Sunday then I guess? How’d you find out?” Dad’s voice is far too casual for the situation, though when has Dad not taken things calmly when it revolves around Ian and his siblings? Iowa can only imagine how the other nations feel about the news, though he was always one of the bunch that thought they must have personified provinces as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is not a Sunday you twit.” England scolds with a surprisingly gentle tone, but nobody seems to dare answer hoe they found out. Perhaps they didn’t want to invite the ire from the sole fact Russia’s pipe was still threateningly placed on Ian’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Dad…” Ian nervously mumbles, “I swear I didn’t know that it was a G8 meeting.” he listens to see a response from his dad but nothing answers it but a short chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I bring any of them over right now?” Alfred asks in a way that rings alarm bells in Ian’s mind, surely he won’t bring over the thirteen, right? “I'll head over.” America laughs, with the whole room seemingly unaware of the very real possibility there would be a knife wielding Abigail there to take revenge for the Boston massacre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do not mind.” Russia says, taking Ian’s phone and turning it off as he gives it back, and places the pipe by his side. Immediately Russia’s eyes land back on Ian’s, the expressive eyes that none of the states realize is stunning simply because so many of them have such.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Washington DC?” England pipes up, looking surprisingly paternal, but also looking like more of a worrywart than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, no, that's George. Do ya wanna talk to him or something?” Ian says, fiddling with the top of his phone case as he tries to think of where George may be. Perhaps he is in the congress building wreaking havoc or something like a normal seventeen year old. George would probably be a better actor than Ian to impersonate Dad, George was basically just his serious side, though George’s coiled black hair was as different from Dad’s straw-like hair as one could get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May vee know which state you are?” Germany’s words snaps Ian out of his all too typical daydreaming and into reality, one that he wasn’t too keen to accept. Something brushes at his all too fussed over cowlick and Ian jumps back, jerking his head to look at the offending object which just so happened to be Italy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m uhh- I’m Iowa.” He stumbles over his words, trying to ignore how much he feels like a zoo animal being observed by the crowd of nations. He steps backwards, right into Russia’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Iowa is one of Amerique’s states?” France asks him as Ian steps away from the circle of nations, though they seem not to notice strangely enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had almost happened once, Alfred really dreaded to say that he had seen nothing wrong with telling a group of his children that he was leaving them alone while he went to Moscow. He could barely go moments away from them without the older youths tearing at each other's throats, and the younger ones doing their best to mimic. But this was important, he had to, he had to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred noted that he should stop thinking about this, there was the word conference to go to, he had to focus. The snow on the ground was thick from a typical Russian winter, one of the unrelenting chills that makes one wish for the sunny fields of Virginia again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks on the large monolith of a door, opening to the beautiful carpets and faces of several servants. They speak in rapid Russian but the vague knowledge of the language Alfred holds is completely insignificant. Just enough to understand greetings, legal terms, and military vocabulary. But one of the servant girls stares back at him with England’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-Abigail?” America chokes out, and she pauses, stills, stares. It must not be her, America left his daughter back in the states. Though he would recognize that face anywhere, especially those eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? That is me.” She says, short, clipped, and with a very badly hidden Boston accent. The grating mix of a fake Russian accent and a Boston one makes this all more damning, even if she hid her face. Before consciously realizing it America has grabbed Massachusetts's hand and dragged her out of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-dad I can explain.” She whines, but America soon shushes her like everyone does to him. He drags her deep into the front gardens, to a small bench under a snow covered overhang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see any of them around here right now?” He whispers into his daughter’s after looking around the gardens for anyone else, and Abigail soon does the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see anyone.” She mutters, hanging her head like a child who knows they’ve done wrong even though chronologically she is over one hundred and physically she numbers at around fourteen. And like with every time he pulls one of his children away from the others to talk to, his anger quickly fades. For the sole reason that they show weakness and regret as soon as no peer is there to judge and jeer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby.” Abigail looks up into her father’s eyes with the tearing feeling that she wishes she shared in their blue color, “Why are you here?” America smiles like he can’t help it, and Massachusetts hugs him as if otherwise she would die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, can I ask you something?” Abigail mumbles into his chest, feeling ever so much like a young child even though that is tinged with burning all consuming anger coursing through her spirit. Her disguise’s long skirts brush upon the cold ground just slightly, and is far more casual than she is accustomed to wearing at state events.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything sweetie. The hero always answers questions.” Her father soothes, running a hand through her far too pale hair, too pale in her tastes and far far too much like England’s. She knew that her father finds nothing wrong with her appearance, but it burns into her all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you trust him!” She cries muffled into his chest, and he tenses just slightly “Why do you trust that awful, imperialist empire. Why Dad?” Her cries have devolved into mumbles, tears, and a bear hug of inhuman strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t that bad, Iggy’s just a bit stuck up. He gets,” Alfred pauses, pushing Abigail’s shoulders back until she can see his face, “He just gets nasty whenever he’s annoyed.” Alfred smiles at his daughter with the words, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. The young teen wipes fresh tears off of her face while fighting the urge to restart the hug, but this time not letting her father pull her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We fought to distance ourselves from him Dad! You know what he did to little Georgie.” Abigail yells, either not caring that people may have heard her or not even thinking about it.  She watches as her dad’s face changes into something sour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Abby that's not fair. It's 1831 now, that has been seventeen years by now, older than you’re supposed to be acting.” Alfred turns the end of his sentence into something artificially cheery, a little chuckle letting go and flying into the air. She swears at that moment that if she looked up into the sky she would be able to see the chuckle floating away on the breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should kill him Dad, you could, I’m telling you!” Her father tenses at the enthusiastic screech from his daughter, “Please, you’ve won two wars against him, you can do a third.” Abigail can barely see through the idealistic haze, the red white and blue fog in her mind. Blinding her to the obvious struggle of Alfred in front of her. He almost corrects her and says that, no we did not win the war of 1812, but telling her it was a stalemate for the hundredth time would do no good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby…” He mumbles, taking large hands off of her shoulders to rest them at his sides in a move anything but casual. Abigail, however, does not hear America as she has taken this as an indication that she should spin in the way that young girls tend to love on the account of twirling skirts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tell you, If we banded together against the Brits it’d solve it Dad. We’d stop arguing with each other I tell you that, band together like the good old days to shoot those nasty redcoats!” Massachusetts shouts to the winds, to the overly thick snow on the ground, to her father. She feels the tension in the country and for some unknown reason thinks America does not, perhaps because he is so calm, perhaps because he seems to love them all so. But there is no mistaking the clawing tension just begining of a civil war that will happen in just under thirty years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Abby, just no.” America is serious like he never is, and it drags the smile off of Abigail’s face, “Now hand over that pistol, I mean it.” He orders, leaving Massachusetts mood to drop as no joking words attempt to lift spirits, no kind tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you.” She breathes just over a whisper as if she didn’t intend for America to hear them, cradling the overly ornate top of the line musket in her palms. America takes it, tucking it away in the back pocket of his large coat. He barely even acknowledges but she knows that he knows how she planned to use that very gun to aim and fire directly into England’s heart. Though she doesn’t know at the moment that never again would any of them be told about a world meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Hero’s here, calm y’allzes horses!” America’s tell-tale yell echoes around the room as he busts open the door. A true hero mainly to Ian who is overwhelmingly glad at the chance to duck away from the center of attention and leave that to his dad. But now all he can think about is how strange Dad looks without the bomber jacket that he is currently wearing, almost like a hairless cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful that you have decided to arrive America, you have much to answer for.” Britain proclaims as he stands up from the table that they have been sitting at for the agonizingly long hour that it took for America to make an entrance. About a half hour ago the nations realized he was heavily uncomfortable, and in a vague attempt to aid that Italy decided to order an absurd number of hamburgers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow! You almost managed to capture my awesomeness, I can see why you fooled them.” Dad shouts from across the room, walking to Ian and ruffling the carefully managed hair back into the typical mess upon reaching the table. Ian stays quiet, relishing in the sudden lack of questions pestering him from all sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ammmeeeerrrriiicccaaa! You said you have other children coming here to meet us!” Italy whines, and America smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! You three can come out here now!” He shouts, looking back to the door where three states file out, but to Ian’s surprise Callie is not among them. Ian can see the moment at which England notices Alexander, the one state who bears the most striking resemblance to the former empire. Lilo and Andrew stay near Andrew, forming a sort of blood clot like clump, obviously reluctant to approach the nations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Alexander Jones, I am the personification of New York. Hello,” Andrew makes a ‘come here’ gesture at Ian, and that is all he needs to walk over to the group, “I would say that it is nice to meet you all, but It is a lie.” His cold tone does not seem to dissuade the nations, especially Britain who has not taken his eyes off of Andrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Lilo! Uhh- Aloha! I’m the state of Hawaii, nice to meet you! But I’m not going to be mean like Alex, It really is nice to see you!” She beams around the room, but holds her hand tight to Andrew’s. They make a strange visual pair to be siblings, Lilo has black hair to Andrew’s blonde, Lilo has blue eyes to Andrew’s violet, Lilo stands a full foot shorter than Andrew does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Alexander. It’s so strange to see you all!” Andrew practically cheers the words, bouncing on his toes for a moment. Then Lilo says or does something that almost definitely means something between the two of them but nobody else can understand, bringing Andrew to speaking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! I’m Alaska!” He yells, while looking between the nations and bringing a hand up to point, “I know you, you’re Uncle Mattie! Dad says I look alot like you.” The man proclaimed Uncle Mattie looks incredibly surprised by this, as if he didn’t expect his brother’s habit for nicknames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little Matthieu is an uncle?” France says at nobody in particular, observing the two children like they were some sort of rabbit. Germany however is observing the children like they may end the world, but calmly. Japan has taken his observation of quietly staring at the states to taking photos, probably to send out en mass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! Mattie is my twin!” Alfred shouts, walking over to Matthew to lay an arm around his shoulders. Whatever point he was trying to make with that isn’t clear, but Ian sees a resemblance of them to each other almost as much as him to his dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about big brother France?” If France thinks that anyone will call him Uncle France or something he is sorely mistaken, as it is he can barely see anyone liking the man all that much. Ian doesn’t want to imagine him meeting ‘Polyon though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright Ian?” Alexander asks, and the pair have seemingly disconnected from the rest of the world. They aren’t paying attention to the nations and the nations are simply squabbling amongst themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, yeah. I thought Russia was going to bash my skull in or something, he threatened to.” Ian concedes, starting to fiddle with the heavily rolled up pant legs and the bomber jacket that was far more oversized now that Ian had taken off the extra layers underneath. Alexander takes bandages out of his bag, bandages which just about every state has on them at just about every time, and starts to look for nonexistent wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bastard. I should give him a piece of my mind. Did anyone else threaten you?” Alex mumbles, and even though Ian keeps telling him that there is nothing injured he keeps looking, finding a BB pellet indent from Edith the day before. Edith has always embraced the gun owning Idaho pride and has decided to shoot BB pellets at the Californian alliance whenever she got mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, why are you mother henning, you never do that.” Ian pulls away mildly from Alex while talking, watching as Alex places the bandages back into his bag. Neither miss the glances their way by a very specific nation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well maybe it’s because I know how dangerous nations are. You’ve had the pleasure of never having been invaded, but well, It’s a truly nasty experience.” Alexander lectures in a very strong New York accent, and it is this accent that prevents Alexander from sounding eerily like Britain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Callie?” Ian asks, finding that now was the perfect time to ask and desperately trying to ignore the fact he had been wanting to ask that for an awkward amount of time. He simply wants to return home and forget that the nations were there, not even curious about anything concerning them really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nursing bruised ribs and a black eye. She broke Austin’s jaw though and he’s pissed.” Alexander throws his head back against the wall as he speaks, and Ian notices that at some time when they were talking they sat down on the floor, “I’m glad I’m not part of your squabble.” Ian notes that both Lilo and Andrew have started to talk to Russia, though Dad is right next to them and engaging in conversation as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I need to start planning again.” Ian groans, dreading the inevitable work that comes from Callie deciding Ian makes the best plans, and not to think about it too much even though she just told him thinking was his job. Callie gives him a headache like nobody else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure do, because If I was hearing correctly, dad invited the nations to stay with us.” Alexander says, as if that wasn’t the single most worrying thing that's happened in the world.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I still do fic requests if anyone wants to request something! I love writing those. Also I want to know if any of you want me to do a short segment from one of the nations concerning the states, and if so, who? I apologize if the fic is a bit bad, I am not very experienced at this in my standards. But If you liked It I'm so incredibly glad, people liking this makes writing it worth it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Red paint and Angry states</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The nations ride on the chaos bus to get to the chaos house.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here are the states names in case you forget:<br/>California - Callie<br/>Iowa - Ian<br/>Hawaii - Lilo<br/>Alaska - Andrew<br/>Oklahoma - Olive<br/>Texas - Austin<br/>Nevada - Ned<br/>West Virginia - William<br/>Virginia - Ginny<br/>New York - Alexander<br/>Massachusetts - Abigail<br/>Pennsylvania - Phillip<br/>Washington DC - George<br/>Wyoming - Wyatt<br/>Idaho - Edith<br/>Florida - Franklin<br/>Wisconsin - Wendy<br/>Rhode Island - Ronald</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Why did you agree to do this Ian? Sounds kinda stupid for you.” Alexander says, then leans a head against the bus window, watching as the scenery passes them by. Ian looks around the bus at the nations who have decided to seat themselves around as well, he doubts any of them are happy with taking a drive in a paint covered school bus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Callie can be very convincing, but I-” Ian stops when the words threaten to trail off into rambling, letting out a long sigh before continuing,“I don’t know why I follow along with her plans. I don’t know why I hang out with her so much.” He groans, but picks up his phone anyways when it buzzes a notification for Callie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Callie:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Can I ask you another favor pls</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ian:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You already owe me</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two have been attached by the hip since you first met, I have no idea why. Both of you have been best friends against all odds or somethin.” Alex states like it's the most obvious thing in the world even though he just admitted confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Callie:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Then i’ll owe you some more.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Wait.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>How bout I don’t make you plan anything for awhile</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not best friends.” Ian groans, letting the phone linger in his hands as his mind lingers on a response. Flashes of the past hundred fifty years flash by with the only constant in them being Callie,  “Okay, I admit it, Callie is my best friend.” Ian aquiesses, letting this tide him over into giving Callie the benefit of the doubt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ian:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>What is it?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t so hard.” Alex laughs, chewing on the pen that he was just writing with, when Ian peeks at the list it is of the different nations though he looks away before he sees anything of note. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Callie:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tytytytyty, can you learn about the nations? We need info.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m not her best friend.” Ian sighs as he admits this, trying not to feel jealous about how Callie almost always hung out with other people. He, however, spent the majority of his time either reading or doing something admittedly stupid with Callie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Ian:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Deal</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm maybe but I doubt it, I don’t care enough to intervene though.” Alex says, and as soon as that leaves his mouth a blonde head pops out behind them and scares Ian shitless. An actual observation of the man shows he is France with a giant grin on his face followed closely by a grumpy England.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Intervene in what mon ami?” France asks, leaning down to peer at the paper Alex was writing on. When New York turns the paper away Iowa swears that he can feel his brother getting angrier by the second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up frog, they don’t want to talk to us.” England grunts, moving to pull away France by an arm. When Ian looks at England’s face for the first time since he’s calmed down all he can do is stare at the eyebrows, the same eyebrows that Philip so carefully trims so nobody notices. Philip has complained to seemingly all of the states how much it was unfair this is the trait he inherited, and Ian remembers the screams of how ‘Pennsylvania is nothing like England!’. Ian also remembers Abigail screaming at him that at least it was something Philip could hide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“N-no it’s alright.” Ian stutters, and forces himself to look into England’s eyes and pretend they belong to Alexander,  “I want to talk to you.” he bites out, knowing that he should at least try to gather info like Callie asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suit yourself.” Alexander grunts in an incredibly strong New York accent as if for emphasis, flipping a page on his notebook and starting to doodle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merci, what was the talk about intervening? I may be of some help, I am the master in the field of love.” France purrs, England flushes, and Ian wants to die. He just couldn’t believe that his dad had turned up a normal person when these nations that were practically his parents are so basely incorrect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not love or anything, definitely not. That’d be gross, it’s about” Ian realizes a bit too late that he was just about to spill his insecurities to a man he doesn’t really know, and in a moment of such good white lying that he wants to give himself an award he thinks and says of a replacement, “It’s about the western states rivalry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The what?” England barks, or the closest one could get to a bark while still keeping a sulky temper. France slaps him upside the head and says something Ian thinks is ‘be nice’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Callie,” Ian blurts out, then realizes neither know anything of what he means, “California and Texas have been fighting, and a lot of the western states are fighting too. But I’d rather not talk about that, d-do you want to ask me anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, we have many questions, don’t we Angleterre? What is it like having so much land, more than if Anglettere’s if his brothers leave,” France snickers, and at this time England turns from sulky to pissed if Ian had to guess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was an empire frog, don’t you forget it.” England shouts, and the rest of the bus quiets. Ian watches as Andrew and Lilo turn to stare with those suddenly mischievous eyes. Ian feels Alex next to him tense, drawing Iowa’s eyes to the drawing made of pen and frustration. Something far too akin to panic rushes through Ian as he recognizes one of Abigail’s muskets, the one affectionately named Yorktown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhhh. I don’t know if it makes a difference, Dad always used to say it was the people that mattered not the land though.” Ian stumbles over his words, and the bright eyes of both incredibly ancient nations turn to him. Maybe France’s eyes are Ian’s eyes, the ones that are Dad’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, Amerique barely knows anything, he is so young.” France pompously declares, and at that moment Ian turns his head, holding his phone in a death grip hoping that Callie texts back so he has something else to pay attention to. “Are you glad to meet all of us, petit Amerique?” France says, though Ian can only feel the eyes at the back of his head, though when he looks around both nations seem innocent enough. He doesn’t bother turning his eyes away from them, not desiring only to return to the sensation of eyes heavy on his skin like wild fire ants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh not really?” Ian blurts out to the visible surprise of France, though the somber look on England’s face makes him simply uncomfortable, “I-I don’t know why Dad is bringing you all to the house, maybe he thought that it’d be safer in a controlled environment?” he continues, though as if the house is controlled. Chaos would be a better word but only twice as true, dangerous fits it better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For whatever reason?” France insists, sitting down in the uncomfortable seats behind Ian and resting his head on the row Ian and Alex share. England continues to stand uncomfortably, and Ian finds himself wistfully glancing at Lilo and Andrew. He would have gone over if Russia didn’t scare him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to see Lilo shooting Mr. Japan when she realizes who he is, or uh uhhhhhh.” Ian mumbles, voice drifting off the more the nations looked at him with scrutiny, feeling social anxiety punch him in the chest with the force as if it was from Austin. He doesn’t even bother to mention why Lilo would shoot, only mildly thinking of that the youngest states have the most guns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spit it out.” England demands, leveling a strong stare at Ian and the hodge podge of traits from the people he grew up admiring pushes his mouth before his mind can even think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘All of the thirteen original colonies trying to murder Mr. England in his sleep.” He blurts out, feeling the stupidity of the words on his tongue with Alexander besides him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or Abigail in the waking hours too,” Alexander responds to the absolute shock of Ian, not the words but the fact that Alexander had admitted that, “What, how did you think I'd gotten into a conference before?” He laughs with a deep voice that brings his face into a small smile, leaving Ian feeling like he just walked into somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abigail is Massachusetts.” Ian explains to the confused looks on the other’s faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyways, Id be more worried about Andrew and Russia, but they seem to be getting along at the moment.” Alexander rambles, pointing his nasty chewed up at the pair of children and Russia, laughing at something unknown while Mr. Japan looks very distressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The revolutionary war was hundreds of years ago, how are they still mad about that?” Britain seethes to seemingly noone in particular, though looking occasionally at Ian with a bitter look in his face. One that reminds Ian far too much of when Abigail is bitter as well, and oh is that such a slap in the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Barring the civil war only Hawaii has gotten hurt by war since 1812, and she barely remembers that. Nobody younger than Texas fought in the civil war either, but he was just a drummer boy.” Alexander explains, sowing memories that never did exist but perhaps reality was close, of a small and angry Austin pounding at drums on the battlefield. It made him want to laugh and cry, at least he and the other younger union states were left out of such a war.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Austin was a drummer boy?” Ian asks, almost ignoring the other nations to look at Alexander.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Alexander confirms with the standard New York tilt, returning his attention to the notepad where the musket drawing still rests. Etched there like an omen to an angry god, or a token of fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>THUMP. A large familiar noise sounds throughout the bus, looking outside Ian can see that the surrounding area is the familiar Virginia countryside forested area. Though what Ian takes another moment to notice is that while his attention wavers the nations have startled to alertness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” England shouts, and the bus starts to halt in the horrible way of an impulsive driver, “Why are we stopping?” Another nation shouts but Ian does not notice or care which. THUMP THUMP hits the sides of the bus, and the sudden halt creaks to an immediate stop that jerks everyone inside around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“America! What is going on here?” Another screeches, with the increasing intensity of the obnoxious thumps on the bus. Ian knows that none of them know when to stop, Ian himself finds it incredibly fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to meet more states.” Dad shouts, opening the bus doors to let in the agents of hell themselves. The nations watch in seeming terror as the noises from the outside keep getting louder, France is glued to the window. Russia has seemingly not noticed, but that seemingly would be wrong. His pipe was right out of Ian’s sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“DAD GUN IT!” Callie yells, pulling Olive into the bus as she throws a rock the size of a large cat into the forest. The door is shut just as the rock leaves her hand, and Ian can see the paint that covers them both head to toe, but Callie has a far worse coating than Olive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problemo!” Dad shouts back, waiting for his daughters to get just slightly more in the bus before gunning it as requested. A giant Hollywood smile on Callie, as reflected on Dad.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And kids this is California!” Dad shouts in the way Ian knows means that he’s grinning, a grin that plasters itself on Ian’s face as well. The sun is just barely setting on this new land -California- and the whimsical forest is something like out of Dad’s stories. Ian swears he saw a deer earlier, and even though Iowa is way better this place is gorgeous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks boring.” Austin mumbles with all of the enthusiasm of someone bored, he has been annoying and managed to convince Dad to let him sleep all day in the backseat of the wagon. Ian thinks he would be annoyed if doing that wasn’t uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woooooow.” Ian feels ripped from his chest, the gorgeous collection of trees dwarf him in the most amazing way possible. The ground crunches in the most satisfying way, the shadows of the trees hang low like the entrance to another world, everything mundane has come together just to feel so right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanna go home!” Wendy moans, kicking the wagon wheel of the wagon that holds all of their current possessions. Ian isn’t worried though, he left all the important stuff in Iowa like Dad told him to, Wendy probably brought everything from Wisconsin because she’s an idiot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet, we have to get your sister back home first. Wherever she is. We should go to the gold rush!” Dad proclaims, and Ian can’t help but wonder how Dad knows California is going to be a girl. Hell he couldn’t even tell that Wendy was a girl when Dad and her first found Ian, though after the months of traveling with her it’s ingrained in his mind. Wendy glares at Ian as he continues to start and stop again to touch the trees, probably going to mumble another thing about how there the same boring old trees for miles. Ian knows Wendy’s just homesick like a little baby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gold?” Austin sits up, dragging himself over to the front of the cart to focus his brown eyes on Dad. Ian didn’t understand why anyone would want to look for such a boring thing, but maybe Austin did because he was way older than Wendy and him. Maybe he was just taller, unfair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanna go home too Dad, pleeeaaaassseeee!” Wendy shouts, but again nobody agrees to her demands. Dad picks her up and comforts her for a minute or two before encouraging her to run around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Me too.” Austin pouts, shrieking and grabbing onto the wagon as it bucks over an unexpected rock. A quick gasp from the treeline draws Ia’s view, and there is something there. He knows it, something is there. Maybe he has magic and can feel it like a hero, Heroes must be cool for a reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad there’s something in the forest!” Ian yells, with the firm belief that if his Dad is such a hero, surely he can see it as well. There is a flash of movement that Dad doesn’t catch, and looks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see anything, it’s probably just a squirrel.” Dad, the wonderful United states of America that Iowa gets to be part of, dismisses, yawning loud and stopping the oxen. Soon the wagon is unpacked of the supplies needed for the night and Dad has left to search for firewood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Iaaaann you’re probably seeing things!” Austin taunts, holding the gun he was assigned to protect them tonight as if it was a baton. Wendy huffs and sits down, eyeing them like a predator would prey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh Dad said it was probably a squirrel.” Ian responds, standing on his tip toes in order to look Austin in the eyes, but through the shows of dominance he wants to curl in on himself. Glaring back at Austin, Ian decides that a better use of his time is to investigate the maybe-squirrel that Dad said there was. But as soon as he disappears behind the line of bushes a hand grabs him around the head to pull him down, effectively muffling the screeches he didn’t make.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re like me!” The mean person whispers, continuing to hold a hand to Ian’s mouth as they turn around with the limited space in the bush. The thicket is thick enough that all Ian sees is a shock of blonde hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha?” Ian mouths through the hand, and another hand wraps around his wrist. With a quick movement the person drags him out of the bush and behind a massive tree. In the absence of a nasty bush Ian can see the person is a girl, similar looking to many of the Spanish and natives of the land. But her hair is blonde just like Ian’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look!” She whispers, poking her chest and gesturing wildly,  “We’re the same!” she says again, before gasping as she tugs on his wrist. Resigned to his fate of being dragged around he follows, to another tree. The girl points at herself with a mischievous grin, and then hits the tree. A large and very noticeable dent appears in the shape of her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bu-h I didn’t do that?” Ian mumbles, but the girl has pulled him into a massive and very strong hug. Not expecting this, Ian falls over in a way that drags the girl with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re the same. Trust me! My brother!” She laughs, and the reality clicks in Ian’s mind. He found his sister California, hopefully California is nicer than Austin or Wendy. Ian certainly thinks California is a better place than Texas and Wisconsin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooooohhh. My name’s Ian, what’s yours?” He says, but the girl’s face twists into a confused look, she sits down on the floor of the forest as Ian starts to stand up. A large bird lands on her head and lightly nips at her hair, before jumping off to nestle at her lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-h I don’t have one.” California admits, sulking in a complete opposite of her earlier mood in a way that makes Ian’s stomach turn. The large bird nips at her again and she mumbles something to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhhh” Ian looks at the girl, he thought everyone had a name. Dad had told him his and Ian knew it was true the moment he heard it, “If you’re my little sis, then you’re California. I’ll call you Callie!” He shouts, trying to get her happy again because being sad was not nice. Her face lights up, and as she stands up the bird flaps away as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am Callie. I am Callie. I am Callie!” The girl cheers, spinning around and dragging Ian with her, a smile of joy,  “But you’re not my big brother, you’re shorter than me!” She giggles, placing one of her hands on Ian’s head that only comes up to her nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuhuh, I’m older.” Ian pouts, but Callie just starts them spinning again, spinning that drags them away and leaves them floating on air for minutes as they just keep spinning. When Ian’s hands slip they both fall to the ground, worlds spinning horribly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuhuh.” Callie giggles after a bit, sitting up and stomping over to look at Ian who was still groaning on the ground, “I wanna show you somethin!” She shouts, dragging him up again as he continues to follow. He doesn’t much know why he follows except that it feels right. Callie leads him over rocks and through trees, their pace picking up to a wonderful run that leaves their lungs burning and minds exhilarated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow.” Ian breathes, because Callie has just lead him to the most stunning lake he has laid eyes on, a solid blue like the sky is. No clouds in sight, no waves on the river. Almost too perfect for human eyes. Divine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” England asks, looking over at the two young ladies who have just catapulted themselves face first into an almost moving bus. Everyone is forced to brace themselves as America guns it in the most unsafe driving Arthur has seen since Italy. Both girls are covered in paintball paint, with bruising to match.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Callie, I am the state of California, nice to meet you guys!” Shouts the taller of the pair, she is blonde, skin just a hair paler than Mexico’s and very buff. The girl -California- takes off bulky paint covered goggles to reveal brown eyes, as well as a black eye that looks both painful and recent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Olive, state of Oklahoma.” The obviously younger one pipes up, she can’t be more than twelve or thirteen and obviously hasn’t gone through puberty. The girl has skin a tad darker than America, hair a tad darker as well styled in a messy mop just longer than Americas, and with hazel eyes. The girls don’t look much similar though, England notes, with Olive being on the heavy side. America really should keep his atrocious obesity epidemic under control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ian no-not the ribs.” Squeals California, hugging Iowa as she herself winces. They look at each other, and England has to try not to stare at the child who brings up too many memories. The pair let go of each other and immediately California resumes shouting, “Ohh Alex you should talk to Italy!” Without much of a fuss New York nods, walking over to where Italy and Germany are talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry dude, like I had to stop Alex from staring a hole into the back of your head.” A voice says, and at first England really believes that it’s America talking to him. But the higher pitched voice brings him back to reality, dragging his eyes to the girl now resting her feet on the backrest of the chairs in front of herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here I was thinking that not all the states acted utterly immature like America does.” England scolds California, trying not to let the memories of young Alfred doing just the same when he was a colony. The states are almost America deconstructed and split into two different people, one with the attitude and one with the looks, both far too uncanny for England’s liking. He would rather go awhile without remembering the Americas and the eighteenth century.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rude.” California groans, placing her feet back down on the ground like a civilized woman before raising an eyebrow at England. Before he even notices one look from the lookalike sends him walking up to the front of the bus, stopping. The landscape seems almost too familiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You told me you burned it down.” England says quietly, standing next to America now even though he didn’t truly notice he continued walking. If England squints he can see the blue house in the distance, the bumpy ride of the bloody awful bus making the memories of carriage rides familiar once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry dude, I didn’t want you coming over and accidentally bumping into anybody. I even expanded it, a little too much but It doesn’t hurt to be ambitious. We have enough rooms for everyone, probably enough for even more people than this to be honest.” America rambles in a way that almost sets England at ease, nervous in a way that England does not see because England is blinded by his own nerves. Almost as bad as the beginning of July, and now he doesn’t even have the excuse of the anniversary of it anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me about them?” England can’t see why he wouldn’t be told, there was peace for so long. The states were established so early, there was so long. It was pains in his chest, the constrictions of his heart at the fact these were practically his little brothers as well. Nieces and Nephews at least, but America didn’t consider him a brother anymore and he quite possibly lost so much family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Told ya Iggy, nobody wanted me to after the revolution.” America says, and at least he has the nerve to act ashamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Before, America, I mean before.” England sighs, watching as America decides not to watch the road to an unnerving degree. And unlike with America, these children or at least New York were so obviously related to England that it hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ gonna sound stupid dude” America says, tapping the wheel intensely and finally looking somewhat normal now with the bomber jacket returned to his shoulders, “I didn’t want to bother you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you decided to raise thirteen children by yourself? America that is the most idio-” England is interrupted just shy of a shouting fit by the surprisingly calm and repentant voice of America.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you it was stupid Iggy.” England wants to shout but the words die in his throat, had he really been such a bad guardian. A mere child decided to raise many other children because he didn’t want to bother his older brother? England is prematurely snapped out of his thoughts by a loud shout from America, “We’re here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“America.” England states dangerously, not wanting the immature man to brush off the conversation once and for all. But that seems to be the intention as America parks the bus without a word further to England. So he busies himself with looking, the house is truly enormous, fitting for the enormous amount of people living in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey y’all please explore if you want, though I ask if you find one of the states and stick to them for a bit. There's a lot of us. And they have all been notified of this.” America shouts, opening the bus doors just slightly faster than they were supposed to be with a loud screech. Everybody floods the bus, leaving England standing there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“England, are you alright?” The words startle Arthur, and he looks around to be face to face with Matthew. The young nation looks mildly perturbed but alright, almost definitely uncomfortable with the exact same things that are troubling himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! I didn’t see you there Matthew, I am completely alright!” England chuckles, watching out of the corner of his eyes as America’s children greet another standing outside. The noise of the house can be heard from outside and suddenly he feels all too unprepared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D-do you want to explore together? I asked A-alfred and he said he had to do something.” Matthew stutters, curling inwards on himself in a way quite similar though more severe to the young lookalike. If the ones he has met take so much after the three of them he hopes France has none that act like the awful frog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, we don’t need America to lead us around, we can just ask …” He looks around for that Ian kid, but the only people left are Germany and Italy, who have taken to talking next to the bus. Arthur stands there, trying to muster the courage to enter the house for the first time in years, “Oh. Well we used to live here as well so no matter.” he mutters, looking at the doors which if anything have never changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I almost forgot, it’s so different.” Canada almost whispers, and England feels foggy memories threatening to stir.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to talk to the colonies about the revolutionary war. They need to learn to get over the blasted thing.” England mutters to himself, casting glances to the … interesting … decor that America decided to decorate his house with. The paintings on the wall can’t decide what era they want to be from and the furniture is a hodgepodge of mended antiques and metal tables.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s a good idea Arthur.” Matthew says, following close behind with inaudible footsteps that place Arthur on edge. Noise rumbles from everywhere and nowhere in this house, exactly as he would have expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it is, new England at least should know some good British values, they certainly aren’t showing any of them now.” England lets himself complain, reaching the end of a hallway and opening the door, waiting for Matthew to catch up before closing it behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, what did you just say?” A girl -definitely one of the older ones- with a disturbingly strong visual relation to himself says, stepping out from the door they just closed behind them and shutting it. He checks the room, noting a door on the opposite side as a possible exit. Her face is the picture of malice, accented by the scar he has been around long enough to know comes from a bullet graze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of your business.” England growls like he would have as an empire, as he believes that an appearance of confidence is almost as good as one. Because something is worrying him, the comments of those other states, the twinges of guilt that he’d do his best to ignore. The backpack the girl is wearing. His mind twitches between thoughts, just over Canada to land into the day where he decided not to shoot America.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm? Well that’s a shame, I thought I heard you talking badly about my father.” She growls just like he did, and with how much she stares him in the eyes with his eyes and his hair and America’s face England doubts that she even saw Matthew. Skipping over him like everyone else, like England would if he wasn’t on such high alert, and hopefully leaving Canada out of this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And who might you be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take a wild fucking guess!” The now assumed Massachusetts screams, pulling a musket out of her backpack and aiming it at the pair. England catches just a glance of his name on the pseudo vintage musket before he is bolting, Canada along as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Canada’s hand grabs his shirt to pull him out of the way of a knife thrown, but right into a torrential downpour of red. They barely spare a glance to the short male holding a rope, or to the bucket it holds onto, as they dart. England pushes open the door, taking the straight path down the empty hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrenaline kicks in and he runs, half a mind on the footfalls that may or may not be Matthew, and half on the path to take next. He catches it early that a pair of teens are holding ropes at the end of either hallway and decides to continue going straight. Hiding wouldn’t matter, his footsteps leave a red trail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand darts out from behind a door frame and he just nearly dodges, noticing at this moment that Matthew is too far behind, only catching a glimpse of blonde hair from over his shoulder. Taking a quick turn into a room makes no difference, the layout a complicated maze of bedrooms and game rooms, this room being a very strange collection of chairs and wooden blocks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>England takes the third door on the right, letting years upon years of combat experience lead him by the nose through a strange path. The last one of the pursuers is still on his trail, but at this point he has gotten past the planned traps and into unknown territory</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>England barely notices the teen he crashes into this time, except for the fact he doesn’t move an inch. A hand grabs at the back of his ruined suit and stops the fervent running, picking him up with inhuman strength as he thrashes. The rebellious colony wasn’t going to catch him if he had any say in this. He can only think of what happened to Matthew when they were separated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ffk” The assailant says with a muffled curse, and the hand holding him up tightens, a door opening while England lands a solid kick on the leg behind him. The kick is accompanied by a pained grunt, and England realizes that the person who has just picked him up is significantly taller than him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kick doesn’t stop them though, as they open a door and throw England inside. He collides to the hardwood floor with a yelp of pain, landing with his head slamming to the unyielding ground. The door closes behind him, and he strains to listen even as he lays on the floor defeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi’s that you Austin?” The Boston accent calls through thick wood, a door adorned with a strange red, white, and blue flag decorated with a single star in the blue. England’s blood runs cold when he recognizes the voice of the pursuer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmhm.” Comes the muffled response from his unknown savior, not unknown so much as named Austin and England has no idea what that means. The others were mentioning him earlier though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D’ya know where England went? Covered in red paint.” The accented voice echoes through again, and at this moment England knows that this Austin won’t reveal him to her. England logically knows he should hide though, but it all feels useless now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nn.” Comes the still incredibly muffled response, irregularly so considering the clarity at which he hears Massachusetts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Split up to search!” She calls out again, and loud stomping footfalls continue, but the door does not open. Long enough for England to consider that Austin has simply left him in here alone but not long enough to truly believe it. As soon as this thought crosses his mind the kid re-enters the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” England reluctantly says, eyes glued to the bandaged face and mouth of Austin. Austin looks incredibly similar to California visually, tall and just slightly paler than Mexico, though this kid had brown hair and America’s blue eyes. The kid is wearing a paintball outfit like California was earlier, though now speckled with dots of red paint. Soon Austin is trying to sign something, but none of the signs mean anything to England, both realizing that England does not understand American sign language Austin pokes around his room for something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should stay in here for a bit  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He writes on a doodled composition notebook,</span>
  <em>
    <span>  Abby’ll still be lookin for ya</span>
  </em>
  <span>  A sad sort of look flashes through Austin’s eyes, but it’s difficult to read the half bandaged face of a stranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess that’s reasonable, at least one of America’s kids is nice.” England says, sitting up now incredibly uncomfortable in his paint soaked clothes, “But what should I do about …” he gestures at himself quickly and Austin goes to write something else in the notebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shower’s through there</span>
  </em>
  <span> England almost wants to bite out something snarky like ‘that doesn’t mean anything, tell me where’, but the teen points at a previously unnoticed door. Without wasting any time Arthur opens the door and unceremoniously walks inside the room. While trying to wash paint off his hands in the sink Austin returns, dropping clothes on the floor and flashing a note, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clothes, don’t get paint on em</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t. Why are you helping me.” England bites, and immediately regrets it. Though unlike when he snaps at America this kid doesn’t retreat in on himself like a kicked puppy, instead making a face still unreadable because it is obscured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Southern hospitality</span>
  </em>
  <span> The teen writes, before leaving England in the shower room alone, the small pile of clothes that the state left on the counter as the only thing showing he was there at all. He locks all of the three doors that adorn the walls for some strange reason. England then takes off the thoroughly stained clothes and drops them in a wet plop on the shower floor, following them soon after to wash off the thick coat of red from his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s done and thoroughly paint free England takes himself and the now paint-less but still sopping clothes out of the shower, changing into the new clothes and his thankfully paint-free knickers that had avoided the dye. The new clothes are the pants and undershirt from a very old but immaculate suit, leaving England feeling very under dressed but at least in clothes that fit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>England re-enters the bedroom, realizing the emptiness and looking around for the first time since he’s entered. The paint on the ground has disappeared since he arrived, the ground only holding a small torn note, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taking a shower, I’ll be back</span>
  </em>
  <span>, scribbled in the same messy handwriting as before.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was so confused at why this was taking so long to write, and boom! It was so much longer than usual. Damn. I should go to sleep. Y'all I love doing fic requests, pls give me requests. I think I'm going to regret posting this without looking it over when awake but eh. Tell me if any of ya liked this, I hope so. Sorry it took longer. 'm sorry, I still feel like I;m too bad of a writer to write this much but I'll ignore the self doubt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fights and Manipulation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Germany meets the strangest of the states, an unnerving girl who happens to be Massachusetts.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here are the states names in case you forget:<br/>California - Callie<br/>Iowa - Ian<br/>Hawaii - Lilo<br/>Alaska - Andrew<br/>Oklahoma - Olive<br/>Texas - Austin<br/>Nevada - Ned<br/>West Virginia - William<br/>Virginia - Ginny<br/>New York - Alexander<br/>Massachusetts - Abigail<br/>Pennsylvania- Phillip<br/>Washington DC - George<br/>Wyoming - Wyatt<br/>Idaho - Edith<br/>Florida - Franklin<br/>Wisconsin - Wendy<br/>Rhode Island - Ronald</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’ve said it once and I’m going to say it again! That’s called terrorism and we’re not allowed to!” Germany hears distantly down the hallway, sharing a look with Italy while continuing to follow New York. He itches to take notes on the differences between states and nations, or why the provinces of Canada have no representation though their cousins do. They soon arrive to a sort of sitting room covered in the most eclectic and badly designed room Germany believes he has ever seen, furniture from various years and in varying states of repair strewn around, some even a few feet above the ground and bolted to the walls. A large whiteboard is pointed away from them, surrounded by teens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are vee interrupting anything?” Germany asks New York, watching as the faces turn towards their group from all around the relatively large room. States are confirmed to inherit traits from other nations - Germany decides to write down as soon as time frees up- as the eldest group yet seemed to have inherited a patchwork of traits from nations, primarily England, secondarily the Italy brothers, and thirdly himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Germany, Germany these people are scaaarryyy.” Italy squeaks, having come to the conclusion at roughly the same time Germany himself laid eyes upon the youth in the center. A teenage girl with a resemblance to England just slightly outweighing a likeness to America, a bullet scar on her left cheek just under her cheekbone, and a truly startling amount of various gun models scattered around her person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unnerving girl turns around to look at them, “No, don’t worry we were wrapping up something already and I think the decision has been reached at this point. Alex you are to bring the previously discussed terms to Callie and the rest of her alliance. Return with their answer.” she brings a rubber-banded paper scroll to New York, and when she is closest Germany can feel Italy grab his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She starts to tap her shoe against the ground when New York leaves, then sharply turns around to look blankly at him. He forces himself not to react as she brings a hand up to his face and flicks him harshly on the nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vhat vas zat for.” He grits out, watching as her face stays blank, he can spot features on her face that he swears come from every nation he has ever met, America truly is the melting pot of the world. Some sort of paranoid intuition tells him she will attack if he looks away, though he is likely stronger than the states he would be outnumbered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, you passed!” She smiles a strange sort of smile that does not move her lips but instead only affects the eyes, turning back to the other states, “Oh calm down you all, It’s ok to say hello!,” she turns to both Germany and Italy, “I’m the state of Massachusetts by the way, though usually I go by Abigail. Italy I believe you have a group of fans.” She looks back over as a few states are waving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a question for you.” Massachusetts asks, walking farther into the room and gesturing for him to follow. Her siblings start swarming Italy in a way that bugs Germany’s paranoia, but not enough to overcome his forced calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Germany walks closer, deciding not to walk in view of the whiteboard writing, “Vhat is it?” he asks to the polite smile of Massachusetts, and a truly staggeringly thick packet of papers. He can see the age of the eldest papers, and when he turns pages he sees ancient and almost worn childish script.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As well as those, may you answer all of these?” She chimes, not reacting to the screech of the rotating whiteboard:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things we need to find out ‘bout nations:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>Which ones aggro to Limeys?</span></em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Which ones are bitches</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>West-states positions?</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li>
<span>Russia???!? </span><span>(Do we need to worry about the kids?)</span>
</li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Are nations strong like callie/austin/dad?</span></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh. I do not understand ze questions.” He looks at them and notices that they are to mean something, except for the last point. Compared to himself he would say America is far stronger perhaps by an order of magnitude, though the idea that there are states who could have individual power on the same level is frightening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which nations are, well, potentially hostile to the Brits?” Massachusetts asks, holding what appears to be an antique journal and using it as a sort of clipboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he considers it there are many nations, but the trend around the world seems to be terrorism groups, “None zat are not hostile to America.” he figures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean personified nations.” She corrects, voice full of false cheer just like Americans are known to do, though perhaps with the culture surrounding them the people and their personification are truly that happy all of the time. The love and blind devotion some hold to their leaders and their cheer brings painful twists to his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose Gilbert, he is east Germany. Perhaps Russia as well?” His brother always had a temper and a motive for conflict, as well as Russia. He decides helpfully not to supply the information that neither would work together under any circumstance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you chosen a side yet, if not who are you going to choose?” She grins with teeth that are far too white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vhat?” he replies, wondering if what seemed like a few kids who don’t like each other much was what she was referencing. He remembers that Iowa, California, and Texas were said to be in conflict, glad more than ever that his memory is wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the moment we have noticed a division of nations into supporting the main three groups of the states, The Californian Alliance, The Texan Alliance, and the Colony Alliance. Because of your,” She coughs and smiles like Gilbert when he is planning something, “actions, during the fairly recent past we are to assume you are at higher risk for state retribution. I apologize but must admit, you should choose a side for protection.” Even if the girl is obviously playing off of guilt it sticks, and he can’t help but wonder whether or not the children around here were hurt by his actions. America had seemed fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess.” he states with the knowledge that he has gotten himself too deep into this, but if he left now his boss would not tolerate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful! For a nation such as yourself with a government more on the liberal side, I would suggest against the backwards folk who follow texas. So truly your only choices are the group of children following an immature attention seeking fangirl, or the group you find yourself among now.” The swings of her voice spur another question to investigate later, is it possible for a state to have mental illnesses? Or the more likely answer that Germany has not interacted much with any teenagers since he himself was one, “I hope we have given you a good first impression?” she continues with blind confidence and a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I vill visit the other groups before I make a choice.” He acquiesces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whyever would you do that, the longer you go the longer you have a chance of angering some states?” She presses on, quickly pausing to sign something to another teen when he walked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May ve go on vith se questions?” Germany asks, focusing his eyes on the the cheerful Italy who has settles into interacting with the group of eager teens,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Of course! Is the Russian personification hostile to Dad?” When he remembers that the still a teenager America is who she is referencing as Dad, Germany lets his mind wander. During the cold war both of them were incredibly hostile, but at the moment with the election of America’s distasteful new boss the personifications seem to be reluctantly mending ties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I vouldn’t say especially.” He decides, knowing full well that if allowed by his boss, Russia would not hesitate to attack America.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful, follow me.” She answers in a clipped response, taking a few steps back and waiting for Germany to start after her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vhere are ve going?” He interrupts, trying to reassure himself that openly carrying a gun is more common in America. Though with the states theoretically wanting revenge that is not much of a calming idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like to find out how strong you are in comparison to the states, this is simply me gathering more of a baseline.” She informs, and suddenly the base strangeness of the event hits him. Not a single state is looking or paying the slightest bit attention to him, when he walked down the halls more states flocked to him than to any of the others they encountered. The only state that is doing anything but pay attention to Italy is the same one who went up to Massachusetts earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will go along.” He decides, slowly catching up to her as she adjusts her walk to match his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have another question, is that alright?” She interrupts his musings at the history of this wing in the house, the design is different but if he remembers his architectural history it was made in the seventeenth century. Not a single state is anywhere but in the room earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose.” Germany answers, attempting to be as polite as possible while the question of state influence over the whole of America is unknown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you form a temporary alliance with us?”, In his pause Germany looses track of her momentarily in this labyrinth of a floor plan, the cupboards, closets, constant rooms, irregular floor plan. Almost as if it was made to get lost in, to lose track of people, but he catches up soon enough “It’s not what you think, if there’s anyone with violent intentions towards you they may already assume we are allied. So functionally we are, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you zink zat is important, I agree.” He says, and she quiets immediately, the conversation turning into a silent walk around the house. She corrects herself from various turns in order to take him down the least conspicuous hallway of them all, one pristine as if it is never used.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leads him through a door into the kitchen, France is sitting on the counter and telling some sort of story to a strange group of states that seem to have nothing in common. He tries to get a vague context, but they aren’t in earshot long enough to hear anything of use</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they turn down a hallway Germany spots what looks like a pair of twins, they bear the strongest resemblance to himself that he has seen among the states. When the pair attempt to walk up and talk Massachusetts politely tells them to ask Mr. Germany questions later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me for a moment,” She smiles, walking to a door a few meters away and knocking on the door. After some time the door opens, and Germany sees this additional state for just long enough to notice the bandaged face and how this teen is one of the very few he’s seen without blonde hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Germany stands still, waiting for Massachusetts to return and lead him somewhere to test strength, curiosity holding himself with nothing more. But this same curiosity drives him to walk just slightly closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-f England is in here our alliances may be in conflict with each other, as long as you don’t surrender him right now.” The door muffles who might have said the words, but the words themselves seem to indicate Massachusetts. Perhaps the youth is the Texas so often mentioned by New York, with the fight discussed earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Austin says that if England was in here we would already be fighting you, so don’t worry.” Another voice says in a choppy sort of delivery, Germany has not a single idea who this may be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edith, do not dictate what Austin is signing, I know sign language.” Massachusetts continues, the voices becoming quieter and forcing Germany to strain his ears more unless he would deign to be more obvious in listening in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, alright.” The Edith mumbles, and Germany is incredibly glad that there aren’t any states walking down the hallway at the moment, none to wonder why he is standing at a door with all the stealth of Prussia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” Charlie walks into the room quietly, feeling the completely foreign feeling of a land that rejects his existence. Dad is sitting without acknowledging Charlie in the slightest, filling out paperwork that Charlie hadn’t even known existed before a week ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” Charlie asks again, watching in horror as his father stands up from the desk, gathers papers, and begins to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad hasn’t even passed him yet on the way out of the room before he’s mumbling with pleas falling from his lips, “Please don’t leave. Please. Please Dad.” he holds back tears, not looking up to see Dad on the verge of doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie, you were the one who left.” He says without any real bite to it, serious in a way that gives such a feeling of otherness that Charlie can barely handle it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad please, you could be our representative! I know more are seceding. Please.” He begs, thinking of every face he managed to convince into this plan, so many that not even the traitorous ideas burning behind his eyelids could convince him to run away from his state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie, you know I can’t, you know.” His father almost seems to reach out, but takes his hand away,  “I’m sorry, I really am Charlie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Dad, I don’t! I don’t understand why you’re letting them take our liberty away!” Charlie screams, a haze of anger and a haze of tinged nationalism. The undercurrent of doubt rushes, he believes it water under the bridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know how nations work? How they represent the people, how we are what our people are, the national identity?” Dad asks, and Charlie nods reluctantly, “There are far more people in the north, you know that.” Dad continues, Charlie falls off the bridge into the sweeping currents of self doubt. How would he ever be able to be independent if he didn’t remember the first things about nations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fair Dad.”  Everything presses down, for years, decades even it has been building, “I can feel their pain, I hate It, It hurts dad. It hurts. Bu- but at the same time… ” He sniffles, but he knows he should be strong. He’s almost fourteen, which is basically fifteen, and Dad was fifteen when he rebelled. A hand on his shoulder is a calming presence, an anchor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the same time It feels like you deserve it. I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Dad calms him, and when this happens he can almost feel the single minded admiration Phil-Pennsylvania and Massachusetts feel for Dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad.” Charlie’s voice cracks, bringing a rush of memories of when Dad stops teasing remarks by mentioning he was aging and how amazing that is, “I don’t want to go, please. Don’t let them take me.” he sobs, “It hurts.” is just barely said when Dad grabs Charlie into a hug. He just wants to cry of problems only their kind has, of being the perfect southern aristocrat with whip marks on his back because he is also the slaves they abuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fight for you Charlie, I promise, one day you will be able to go home again. Back in the union. It hurts less you know, when slavery is illegal.” Dad’s words flutter by but the last few have him tensing, why is he even here, he should be serving his citizens! A push does nothing but almost propel himself into the floor when the other does let him go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Don’t take away my liberty. You’re just as bad as Britain!” Charlie shouts, screaming at the top of his lungs, he was about to fall for it. He was about to agree to stay there, how dare he!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Char-” Dad barely gets in a word before Charlie is shouting again, probably waking everybody up in the house but he just can’t get himself to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I don’t know why I even consider you my father!” Charlie doesn’t even notice the utter look of betrayal on his father’s face, if he saw he would know how much more it was than when he left the house just a week ago, “All you want to do is take away my rights!” he screams, balling his hands into fists as if Charlie intended to punch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charles Jones.” His father states -no, commands- and a sudden fury rushes over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” He screeches, “Y-you’re not my father! I-I’m Charles Calhoun!” Charlie just barely stops himself from punching Da-America, knowing the difficulties of a war when he was the sole aggressor. Nobody would even care, but Charlie knows the Europeans will support him, they must.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stops stewing in his own anger Charlie notices that America doesn’t fight it, indignation seizes him right before the doubt hits. America gets up, walking over to his desk to pull out a small ornate box, “Here,” he stiffly says, “You missed Christmas,” America almost looks like he’s going to say more, the realization that he desperately wants America to say more makes Charlie desperately hope that America says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought, well, Ale- New York said that everyone burned their presents to me.” Charlie snarls, feeling the murderous desire for revenge against a few states, but he still holds the small present gingerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ A hero wouldn’t do that.” America chuckles in a surprisingly sad way, “Goodbye Charles Calhoun.” he says, walking out of the room without a backwards glance. When the door closes Charlie collapses into the uncomfortable chair at the writing desk, just about to open the box when he hears a soft voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chawlie?” It asks, and one of Charlie’s youngest siblings appears from under a table on the other side of the room, Charlie sees a head full of straw blonde hair and large blue eyes. He desires those features so, and for his leaders to even address him as an equal Charlie must cut his hair short enough for the tight curls not to show, to stay inside enough for his skin to be pale enough they don’t notice his obvious ancestry. Though, the only thing he would hate more is looking like England, at least he isn’t any of the new England states. He resented the kid for looking exactly like he wanted to be, but also for being an annoying little brat. Charlie never really interacted with the small children, the toddlers would irritate him to no end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out Ian!” He yells, feeling the rush of anger at being interrupted. The toddler cowers and brings the unmistakable feeling of having kicked a puppy to the surface, “It’s alright. I’m sorry.” Charlie sneers, wanting the kid to take the hint but not make him feel so bad for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be a meanie.” Ian pouts, Charlie wants to be able to address the small shy child as anything else, but none of the newer state’s human names have really stuck in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you there the whole time?” He decides to ask, feeling himself calm down from the blood boiling, sibling dividing, civil war tensions rising kind of fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ian smiles a big grin, looking ridiculous as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mee too!” Another child cheers, and Charlie looks over just in time to see another blonde head of hair appear from under the same table, recognizing it as Callie, the little girl that always stuck to Ian’s side like glue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Callie? You too?” He sarcastically asks, bitterly wondering if one day Callie will hate her dark skin and eyes just as much as Charlie hates his. But the girl looks just barely able to walk, thinking of nothing of the sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Why did Da s-ay you were leaving? Pwease don’t leave.” She asks, almost failing to say the simplest of words. When she walks over to Ian she reattaches herself to him like they were two parts of the same person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t understand Callie, you’re too young.” He snaps back, Ian recoiling while Callie doesn’t react. Though Callie decides that the best idea is to glare at Charlie for all of two seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would I?” Ian asks, almost as if he thinks the couple of years he has on Callie would make him able to understand any politics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Ian. It’s that-” He attempts to keep the anger from his voice but fails, “Dad’s not being nice to me and the other southern states right now.” he says, trying not to flinch as his entire body is overcome with a writhing seizing pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad didn't sound mean.” Callie proclaims, speaking for the both of them like they have a speaking pass they hand off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s about politics. You wouldn’t understand.” He glares at the pair of them and Callie glares back, it doesn’t matter if he’s nice to them or not because he knows the war they will be getting into will place the toddlers on the other side, the wrong side. It doesn’t matter how much of him is protesting this, he has a duty to his state.</span>
</p><p> <span>“Would Ian?” Callie asks, with eager eyes that don’t notice the sudden rush of thoughts making Charlie ignore her. The pain is rising in bursts, like god himself is punishing him. But he’s not a preacher, he shouldn’t be interpreting the word of god. It’s just the treacherous parts of him burning up and telling him to betray his own lands. It doesn’t matter if slaves make up 4/7ths of the population, he has duty.</span></p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s just. Dad is doing the same things that Britain did in the revolutionary war, he isn’t respecting our rights.” Charlie growls, digging his fingers into his leg as he tries to focus, burning anger at simply Britain’s name. The door opens quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie.” Abigail growls, turning her eyes to a softer look directed at the children, “It’s alright, don’t listen to what he’s telling you.” she coos while sending a glare of death directly at Charlie. When he looks at the children again they have nearly plastered themselves to Ab-Massachusetts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Charlie questions in a seething tone that burns the air with anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, Ian, he’s a lying twisted bastard about as patriotic as the slavery he loves so much. Don’t listen to a word out of his dirty heretical mouth.” She smiles, never taking her eyes off of his, though he finds his own eyes flicker to the rifle she showed him on the day he left. South Carolina printed on with golden letters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about that Abigail. You can see it too, the rights that are being taken away? If this starts a trend then what, are we going to be a slave to the representatives of the north while we sit and watch as they overrule us to abuse. Is it going to be the french revolution again?” He yells, standing up to be at eye level with Massachusetts, letting the burning tension spread to her as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start that bullshit with me, I’m not going to be polite and let you abuse human lives under my nose. You know that you can’t persuade me to your secession movement no matter what you do, just so that you can go destroy lives and play tyranny in a country that you are simply a fraction of. This is backwards, you know that.” Abigail passionately screams, her voice along with the traitorous portion of his mind force a memory to play. Abigail whisper screaming at him when Charlie tried to stop her going to rallies. But the rational part reminds him not to think about the liar as his sister, they have no family ties anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you just sad that you can’t have access to all the cheap cotton and crops that you claim to despise. You don’t give a damn about morality.” He bites out, she must be jealous, now it’s this time that he is leading a passionate overthrow of tyrants. But he is also not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what, yeah! I have selfish fucking reasons! I don’t want you devils to bring slavery back to the only nice places left in the union. It hurts, and I do not miss it in the slightest. And I do care, how dare you! I don’t want to see you causing children pain for no reason, and what all of your rotten southerners did to Kansas. If you call Dad England then know that you lot were responsible for doing to Kansas what England did to George, and I know that soon we're going to find a little child with first memories only of blood and pain.” Abigail yells, and Charlie wants to yell about how much she couldn’t understand. She never knew, she outlawed slavery long enough ago she couldn’t possibly remember the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would continue along with telling you just how idiotic it is to blame the Kansas conflicts on south, but I heavily doubt that it’d get through your prejudice and short sightedness. And how uncouth, you swear like a soldier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I will be one with what you’re doing.” Massachusetts responds, continuing to stare strongly at Charles, “Come on both of you, someone will be offended If I accidentally teach you profanities.” She mutters, gently grabbing the hands of the toddlers, leading them away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The game room is oddly cold, but when is it not. Ian looks at the screen of his laptop, waiting for the turns to pass in Civilization while also keeping an ear open to the conversation between Callie and Olive. Though he does not lack for things to do if the kitten soundly sleeping in his lap is anything to go by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink the slushie Callie, it’ll make you feel better.” Olive bugs Callie, holding a slushie to her face that Ian can smell from the couch over. Callie is, and has been for the last few minutes, whining over the bruises like there’s no tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Olive I don’t think that’s how it works.” Callie pouts, Ian goes back to planning virtual war, vaguely looking up when Callie grumbles, “Alright I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room silences again, or more likely Ian simply absorbed by Civ and distracted by petting the tiny kitten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t open that!” Ian snaps back to attention to see Olive with her hand on the door to Callie’s room and a mischievous look. Callie herself looks panicked, but after today Ian doesn’t want to help her. He’s allowed to be resentful sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Olive asks, clenching her jaw shut to not smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your birthday present in there!” Callie protests, standing up and lightly grabbing Olive’s hand. Considering Callie could probably lift the two of them that meant at least something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My birthday’s in November.” Olive looks even more curious, but doesn’t bother to do much more than look at the door while Callie drags her back to the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask me something, I’ll answer anything except for that room, just don’t touch it.” Callie offers, knowing that she has just gotten a knock from Pandora and then opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it like to break Austin’s jaw?” Olive settles on, Ian believes that’s the objectively worst thing to ask when Callie gets in fights every other week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you were there when Edith declared her revenge and shot me close range in the ribs. Little bastard. Idaho's barely a state anyways.” Callie grimaces at the taste of the slushie as she finally takes a sip, placing it on the ground, “It was great to punch him, but can we please not talk about Austin right now?” Callie asks, wincing as she presses a cold compress to her ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you rather I talk about your mystery nation boyfriend?” Olive asks, crawling closer to Callie on the couch before laying down. Ian sees how the word ‘Boyfriend’ hits Callie like a brick, she screws her face up like whenever she’s annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never said they were my boyfriend, or that they like me back.” Callie mumbles, and Ian wants to open the door now. Callie never says anything, she told him about this almost a year ago and never has again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fair, you told Ian!” Olive complains, but Callie has more to tell her than simply the identity of her mystery paramour. Ian knows that before Callie would say the crush’s identity, she would have to come out to the Olive, one of more homophobic states. Though he highly doubts Olive would do anything except make weird comments with how much Olive idolizes Callie. The only other person he’s sure Callie’s out to is Dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Callie shoots back, “They don’t even know that I’m a state or that I know they’re a nation.” Olive crowds Callie’s space, her face so close to Callie’s like Olive is trying to force Callie to look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well have you written the confession yet?” Olive asks conspiratorially, smiling uncontrollably because of the secrets she thinks she knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been trying, maybe they already know. I haven’t been secretive about my appearance or name.” Callie’s face falls, “If Dad showed the nations our photos …” she mumbles, falling dramatically to lay on the floor and pretend to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can wait, when he comes over to sweep you off your feet I’ll get to meet him.” Olive stands over Callie when a knock sounds through the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Callie, it’s me.” Ian hears Alex say through the door, heavily tinged with something negative, but Ian was never good at recognizing such by voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Alex whats wrong?” Callie springs to her feet opening the door face painted with worry, Olive stands right behind. She opens the door to a distressed Alex holding a scroll, as soon as Ian sees him Alex is being simultaneously hugged and dragged over to the center of the room by Callie, as Olive shuts the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not-” Alex stops himself from completing the obvious lie, “Well you’ll see the letter, it’s for you.” Alex hands Callie the letter, “From Abby.” he states, watching the letter as if it had the plague. As soon as it reaches her hands Callie roughly opens it, then starts to read. The whole room stills, Callie just reading line by line as her eyes open more and more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she serious?” Callie asks after reading it, clutching the curling papers to her chest as she turns her attention to Alex. Ian saves the game, closes the laptop, and tries not to overtly worry because something is going on and he just can’t make himself say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah ….” Alex‘s gaze falls to the floor, and then back up at Callie, “I haven’t seen them follow the protocol since the civil war, and not as a whole since well.” Alex trails off at the end, paying attention to Hamilton, the little kitten still in Ian’s lap, instead of looking at Callie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh and what’s that?” Callie asks, voice quiet, if she was ever truly unsure Ian would say that she was at that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strong in the face of the enemy, complete and utter unity.” Alex clarifies, silently staring at Callie as she does the same. Olive and himself have been demoted to confused and very worried audience as the conversation continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout it you two, I don’t know what to think, do you think that we should start an offensive against Abigail and her crew?” Callie’s voice breaks the quiet, and she continues to look at Alex. Ian can only assume what was in that letter, perhaps a threat, maybe a boast?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby? Why would you do that? Abby’s nice.” Olive asks, looking between he brother and sister as she so obviously worries about the answer to that. Callie moves her mouth without words coming out, but then starts to read out the letter,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>If your alliance is seen to be harboring or assisting our enemies we are to be enemies as well.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Callie reads with a blank voice, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do not think that our goals are anything less than complete and total revenge</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She continues, looking at Alexander like he just told her to burn a building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby is going pretty far with this.” Alex answers sheepishly, watching as Callie snaps into anger, seething and holding the papers in a clenched fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty far! Are you kidding me? Are you with her? I thought we were friends!” She yells, scaring Hamilton into Ian’s pocket where he comforts the fluffy being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we still are, If you read the first line it says,” Alex states, surprisingly calm at the verbal outburst. Callie just gets more angered, and Ian agrees. How dare their older siblings threaten them into attacking innocent people, they’re supposed to be the mature ones!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I did, and fuck you! Oh yeah I get revenge! Sure.” Callie bites out, snarling at Alexander who seems to be trying not to respond in kind. Though Ian can also see the other’s point of view as well, they just want Callie not to interfere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes that is what we are both working for.” Alexander spits out, Ian wants to know just what it would take to get Alexander as angry as Callie is. So he can avoid it in any way possible. He desperately wants no to get in the middle of the two, feeling how Callie’s biggest city has more people in it than his entire state, and Alex as well. In comparison to them he’s nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to try to kill a man because of what he did hundreds of years ago, and think that offering me a chance to punch my </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Callie yells though the loudest thing is the final word, not having referred to Texas as that for decades at least, “is enough to justify it! What are you thinking!” she continues, and Alex can probably feel it as well. Even though Alex is one of the most powerful states, Callie has double the population and likely double the military power at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what it was like.” Alex retorts, his words followed by a quick three hit knock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’’ll talk about this.” Callie seethes, the wonderful and terrifying acting ability sinking right in as the anger seems almost to vanish. “Come in!” she yells, giving Ian barely enough time to make sure Hamilton is hidden from view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning!” Ian hears the sweet voice of Abigail, walking in as the strangest trio he could imagine. Austin walks in seemingly only to start a glaring match with a Callie moments from snapping, Abigail looking inconspicuous, and Germany obviously as confused as Ian. “I want to do a few strength tests. Austin, elaborate what we’re doing and why, Ian may I talk to you in private?” She quickly asks, looking at Ian, the sister that just threatened them acting like nothing has even happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Ian agrees, looking to the betrayed Callie as he does, then back at Abigail hoping for anything to be answered. Abigail motions her hand, and Ian follows her directly into his own room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I ask you why you are in an alliance with Callie.” Abby asks immediately, catching him off guard and leaving him speechless. Abby looks so concerned, Is there something Ian doesn't know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we’re friends and even if I leave the alliance Austin and his goons would target me as a weak point to get to Callie.” He settles with, not wanting to explain the living binds that keep him there as they are something he can’t comprehend as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian, I’m so sorry. I don’t think the small amount Callie cares about is enough to warrant doing all of this with her.” Ian’s throat goes dry and his mind repeats over and over, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I knew it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “You may listen to me or not with that one. I wanted to consult with you separately here because I care about you, I’d rather not see Callie drag you into, well I’ll explain. I know you find our revenge against England and Canada to be unjust, but both of them have gone missing with the most likely person to be harboring them as Austin. Your current situation is mainly a fairly peaceful rivalry, but we have more serious plans and goals. If our alliance starts an offensive against Austin, there is plans of an ultimatum for Callie, support us or be our enemy.” She looks conflicted, she looks concerned, and no matter what she wrote Ian wants nothing more than to agree with her. But agreeing would mean abandoning Callie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for telling me, Ill think it over.” Ian lies, trying to keep the evidence off of his face as Abigail starts to talk more.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It surprised me the amount of cursing that was the same in the civil war era as it was now!<br/>Also South Carolina seceded first on the 20th of december 1860, Calhoun was a famous pro slavery politician in like the 1830s.Ill explain more if anyone has any questions, I love comments, theories if you have any, if anyone wants to suggest another point of view or character to see I’m always happy, I still take fic recs if asked. Hope ya liked this :), sorry I haven’t posted in awhile. Should expect this but I still can’t help but lack of motivation/ im still not sure anyone likes my writing all that much but I hope, and I end up not writing for awhile and I’m rambling, sorry! Hope ya liked this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A move towards working together</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hey Germany! When were you born?” California asks him as they walk through a disturbingly large entryway. He can feel the gazes from other states and swears he sees Russia in his peripheral, but dares not look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1871.” Germany answers curtly, looking to all of the states never seen before by foreign nations. He casts just a glance to Texas, following them all in the rear, Germany next to California in the middle, New York and Massachusetts up front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, I thought nations aged like, really slowly. Dad did.” California states, but Germany mostly pays attention to the other states who are not so alike to America. If he pays attention he can almost line her up with America when they first met. He notes the majority of the states are relatively young, not a single one physically older than America.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“America aged fairly quickly for a nation.” The group reaches a door, and for some strange reason walks outside to the picturesque grass yard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you set the record or something then? Like, I’m older than you by a couple of decades. Isn’t that wild?” That almost makes Germany pause, he knows he is physically one of the eldest of the nations, but these young and relatively carefree youths are his elders. He knows vaguely that he was not born a similar age as every other nation, but the idea still bugs order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you fetch the weights?” Massachusetts asks in a very cheery voice when they all reach a relatively boring patch of concrete where a few cars are parked, although the majority is clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you two should,” Callie argues, softly glaring with all of the force of a pouting America, “I can’t drive.” she states, a loud and clear commanding tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Austin, can you help m-” She asks again, turning to Texas instead, but before the words even leave her mouth California is interrupting again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can’t either. He’s disabled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s mute Callie.” New York interrupts, looking and glaring almost exactly as England would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if the car loses control and he can’t steer it away, so he has to yell out for help. We just can’t risk it.” California reasons again with a sort of foreboding smile, giving Germany the distinct impression that he has been caught in the middle of a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please Callie, It’d be such a help with your strength to load the truck.” Massachusetts takes over again, talking for the pair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize Abbie,” Callie pleads, voice turning sorrowful as if she was about to cry, “I wouldn’t want to strain these freshly broken ribs I have until I lift those weights, wouldn’t it ruin your data for me to perform not at my best?” the tears bother Germany as there is a person crying with all of the uncomfort of not knowing what to do. He knows logically that her instant shift in mood is acting, and the colonial pair must as well because they give up and leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the car is out of sight California switches like before, the fake sadness melting off of her face with the last remaining tears as together they fall to the floor. Texas signs something to California, and she rolls her eyes as the only response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was as physically mature as a young teenage human when Deutschland became a nation.” Germany clarifies the question from before, staring to wonder how the states were found or born. They were exceptions to the rules in many ways, their only match in rule bending seemingly being East.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool dude, cool.” California drags them all to sit down on the painfully hot concrete, “Hey Germany, dude, I’d love to ask you a bunch a shit bout countries that Dad won’t tell us-” Her rambles are cut off be an elbow to the ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking watch it ass. Fine fine, translating for Austin here.” California turns to watch Texas sign something, then turns back to him, “The states don’t hate you, don’t let Abby manipulate you for it.” they both patiently wait for an answer or acknowledgement, looking as similar as the Italy brothers in body language, and in looks as similar as him and his own brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danke, for telling me zat.” He politely confirms, trying not to feel overwhelmed at how much of a bad idea it was to listen to America in this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well there's one who mi- Stop. That.” She swats away the hand Texas was using to poke her again in the ribs, “Not for world war two, but the first one.” California tells Germany in a way that confuses him even more, whyever would there be a state who even remembered or cared about that relatively tame war, “Ok, translating again. You don’t have to stay here if you’re worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I vould like to learn about zee differences between states and nations.” He needs to, because he is sure that if he left now his boss would try to send him right back. Right back to the most confusing collection of personifications living as if they were humans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a great idea! You could stay with George, he’s Washington D.C..” Is Washington D.C. a state, and if so why is he in a different location than all the others. He barely notices Texas flicking California, “Can you stop asshole, I’m trying to be nice .” She pauses to watch Texas sign once more, “Austin wants you to know that you could stay somewhere else like a hotel, and meet up with states in-” she continues saying slowly watching him sign “Ok can you sign that again what the hell did that even mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danke, I vill consider it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Germany stays mostly quiet for the rest of the waiting, though that waiting was not much time at all. The two former colonies return with the largest selections of weights that he’s ever seen, even though the majority of them were simply regular objects labeled with the word weight and their number of pounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heaviest thing Germany could lift above his head was also the heaviest California could, a life sized bronze statue of one of America’s founding fathers, the weight listed as 666 pounds. The heaviest thing that Texas could lift was a modified motorcycle labeled at 500 pounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Comparing strength more directly, they had arm wrestling matches. Unsurprisingly Germany beat Texas (3-0), and because of how much easier it was for California to lift the statue it was unsurprising when she beat him as well, though with more of a struggle (2-1). Texas then arm wrestled California, and he won when he decided to use his left hand to punch California in the ribs. They were all excused shortly after that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Abby I don’t think this is a good idea.” Alexander mutters, quiet with the effort not to be heard by nearby soldiers. A trio of siblings stand closely packed, Abigail, Alexander, and Philip, slowly making their way through the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then go home to the loyalists, ya?” Abigail shoots back, stopping the train of movement to whisper-yell at Alexander. Philip quickly replaces her at the head of the precession to lead them through the brambles directly to the loud chaos of sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex c’mon, I wanna see Dad. Don’t you.” Philip pleads, shooting a glance back at Alexander when he must stop in order to be heard. Soldiers walk by armed with muskets, so the preteens duck to the ground and hide in brambly bushes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a loyalist!” Alexander screeches, breaking their veil of pseudo-silence and not a single soldier notices. Likely it goes unnoticed because of the soldiers taking potshots at the British flag just yards away from where the siblings hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know most of the loyalists are right in there,” Abigail starts to yell, but Philip slaps a hand over her mouth so they can at least attempt to hide, “Aren’t they </span>
  <em>
    <span>Arthur</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she quietly growls after ripping Philip’s hand away in a demonstration of inhuman strength. Alexander glares at Abigail with all of the ire necessary to light the fires of hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Alexander does something Philip appreciates, refraining from yelling at such a dangerous volume like before. Philip keeps his senses fresh like flying bullets, listening and looking for something he likely will only see seconds before they’re too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then be brave and prov-” Abigail stops short in her quiet yell with a small choking noise, turning into light gasping breaths, devolving into a deep cough loud like a barking dog. Her brothers immediately know the routine, Alexander snapping out of anger to make sure Abigail doesn’t choke, and Philip watches out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Robert, do you hear something?” A deep voice asks, Philip watching as its owner watches them back unknowingly. Philip freezes, listening intently to the voice, knowing little about the person except that he’s not from Pennsylvania.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably a stray dog or something, Matthew saw one just a couple of days ago.” Another similarly masculine voice responds, also not from Pennsylvania. Philip wishes he would get to try out controlling citizens, even if it was probably just a rumor that he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but if the vermin bites someone.” the first voice responds, and Abigail continues to cough. The sounds are becoming so much more human, so Philip shakes the brambles to hide the sounds at least slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, when has that ever happened. These mutts up here ‘re skittish, no reason to kill one.” Abigail starts to breathe more clearly, more openly, and the coughing starts to cease</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-hu-hurts.” She grimaces as Alexander stops pounding on her back, recovering faster than any time yet as she starts to watch the people more intently than Philip had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you’re going to be fine.” Alexander mumbles, as their sick joke since wars started to happen on this continent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darn redcoats.” Abigail responds as the newest version demands,  “Lets go in.” she orders, dragging Philip who then in turn drags Alex as they crawl to the tent side of the camp. Alex almost stops them to watch some important figure from New York, but the other two could care less and dragged him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They leave the cover of the forest when the tents show up, darting between them like rats trying to hide from a hawk. But the soldiers lacked such good eyes, the children not caught by a single person. None even considered what advantages they may contain, each instinctively pulling the group away from people who happened to live in their state, not even consciously acknowledging it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abigail stops moving suddenly, causing Alexander and Philip to crash into her, but then they all realize at once, “DAD!” Abigail shouts, loosing all hopes of stealth for the group as she runs to Alfred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby! Philip! Alex! I missed you. How do you fare?” He greets, almost being knocked over as the three of them run. They’re all full of smiles and cheer, walking back into Alfred’s tent to talk and reunite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting older! I lost a tooth!” Philip tries to say over the loudness of Alexander and Abigail, holding his gums back so Alfred can see the hole where a molar should be. Alexander takes to clinging onto Alfred as Abigail looks through the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this a musket! Amazing.” Abigail draws all of their attention, trying to hold the enormous musket in her small arms as she repeatedly presses the trigger, “Why’s it not firing? Can you shoot one of these good Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have any gunpowder in it right now,” Alfred grabs the gun from her hands, to her visible disappointment, “I’ll show you how to shoot one of these, c’mon.” The trio immediately lights up in excitement, the noise almost definitely loud enough for countless soldiers to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Abigail grins, holding fists close to her chest as she fixes an intense stare on the gun barrel</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah. Can I too Dad?” Philip asks, Alexander trying to act as if he doesn’t care, but nods alone with Philip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup!” Alfred looks back and forth, leaning down a bit to their height to whisper conspiratorially, “Don’t let them find out that you’re states.” he grins, a chorus of whisper yells following.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Course!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred leads them in a similar sneaking, except this time he leads in front of Abigail, pulling them out of sight of any and every soldier they come across. Their worry has disappeared, trusting entirely in their father. He leads them to an empty and secluded patch of dirt, taking off his bag and rooting through it for everything needed, then places the musket in Abigail’s grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure to pack the gunpowder tightly so it gets all the way down in there. But don’t use more strength than a human has.” He tells her, adjusting her grip on the musket just slightly taller than her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does Abby get to go first.” Philip whines, watching as Abigail drops gunpowder in the barrel, intently watching the mechanism on the back that are so simple but complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked first. Next goes the bullet. Hold it steady. Aim. Fire!” And at that shout, the ring of gunfire makes them all cover their ears for moments following. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me next!” Philip shouts, grabbing the smoking gun from Abigail as the girl admires her shot, proud beyond belief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Dad, a bunch of people are moving around back in the camp.” Alexander notes, stopping all of their movement to listen. But that effort was not necessary with the boom of movement and the sound of guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God bless, thank you. I have to get back to training, I’ll be back here in a few hours, ok?” Alfred asks his children, picking up his bag and somehow not realizing the musket, gunpowder, and bullets that Philip continues to hold. That or Alfred doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Farewell!” Abigail waves as her father departs, focusing on the musket as Philip holds it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God be with ye Dad!” Alexander calls out noticeably after, neither Philip or Abigail noticing as he then sneaks away. His siblings are far more focused on which of them knows how to use their father’s musket better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re shooting wrong.” Abigail corrects, sourly watching as Philip struggles with the musket in almost the exact way Abigail had when she held it earlier. He lets the end droop and holds the whole device like he’s never even seen it used</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you know?” Philip shoots back, trying to hold the musket in a way at which he could put gunpowder in, trying to avoid having the musket at near exactly his eye level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look how well I was shooting.” Abigail argues, pointing at the shiny bullet on the tree she may or may not been aiming for, though despite that even making it close was a miracle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fluke.” Philip decides, aiming for and missing the tree Abigail hit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear lord.” England puts down his impressively large Go-Fish hand and focuses more on his rapidly notifying phone, watching as Prussia, Spain, and strangely France fill the group chat with needless messages. Making it so England must scroll through the flood in order to find anything useful, “More nations are coming here to meet all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, do the nations have a group chat or somethin?” Montana asks in her hurried west coast speech, the incredible uniformity of the accents in nearly a half of America is something that drives England mad. Montana puts down her cards as well. Idaho stares off into space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” He confirms, wanting to strangle Prussia for the crime of infinite questions where not a single person answers. He debates answering one question, which Prussia asked if any states look like him, as Montana bears a disturbingly strong resemblance for a young girl who’s never met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well don’t keep us waiting, whos comin?” Montana presses again, somewhat speaking for Idaho sitting behind her. Idaho just now placing down her hand of cards, paying attention quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell, Prussia and Spain are going to be arriving by tomorrow, the bloody wankers. Mexico has a list of states she wants to meet, but she doesn’t want to come to the house. The Nordics and Netherlands want to speak to the former colonies. China wants to come over but I don’t know why, and south Korea too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go meet Germany and Prussia, c’mon Edith. It’s not like there's any other nation who we really descend from.” Montana argues, eagerly listening for any further words from either himself or Edith. Looking similar to America in her movements, though which states don’t bear a strong resemblance to the overpowered brat is unknown to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad.” Idaho takes the words right from England’s mouth. England focuses on her more now, although he would be loathe to say that Idaho is the only state that even bears a passing resemblance to England that doesn’t desire to watch his blood run. Perhaps that says more about him than the states.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>England’s head snaps up at the sound of the door opening, with Texas walking in looking somewhat tense and uncomfortable. He signs something, and the two younger states around him seem amused. England finds that out of all the states he’s met that Texas is the most tolerable, and he hopes that’s not just because the boy is mute at the moment. He really hopes that not all of America’s children have inherited some intolerable trait or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Austin how’d it go, ya beat her, or did ya beat up her?” Montana asks “Huh. Come on, join us in go fish. You can be on my team.” Texas continues to sign while Montana does not pay attention to him, or even notice his efforts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allright, I’ll translate for you.” Idaho interrupts before England says anything, “He’s asking if you want to stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might as well take the blame for my own actions, lad. So I’m going to stay here.” he says with all the certainty of a man who truly misses understanding what is going on, “Though why do you not ask America for help, he’s intrusive enough into all of our affairs.” he bitterly mutters, because of course America would not control his own children as much as he did the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Montana leans closer to him to whisper something, as if it was a secret, “Well, this is kinda a legend. But, Dad’s never really been able to stop Abby before. And the entire group of colonies? Collectively they’ve tried to kill you, well if you include all of the rumors about 10 times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He realizes how unbecoming it is of him to gape like a fish, but the knowledge is disturbing to say the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad only found out about 3 of them, and two after the fact. Abby, Alex, and Philip tried to kill you right after the revolutionary war, but they got lost. And I think Ronald and Abby tried to kill you in like the 90s.” Idaho states, “Does anyone have a four?” she asks, restarting the game they had abandoned a few minutes ago. He hands her a few fours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget, Ginny said that Abby tried to kill you in Russia in the 1800s.” Montana adds, Texas handing over her fours, as if this was a mundane topic. He was still trying to comprehend the idea that for the last few hundred years there was a group of children trying to kill him. The idea was absurd, the situation around him is more absurd though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Virginia is Ginny, Massachusetts is Abby. The gal with the bullet scar who tried to shoot you.” Idaho adds, realizing that England did not know the names of all of their siblings in the same way that they did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Texas presses a note into England’s hand when the others are not looking, which he glances at immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re onto you, I think they know you’re here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Austin, England said that more countries are visiting.” Montana adds, placing down a completed set of threes. Texas seems to react to that, but without knowing the lad and not being able to see half of his face, the emotion behind it is unknown to England.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey y'all, if anyone likes to read this tell me if you prefer the story to be more focused on the states, the countries, or a mix of both? Hopefulyl I can update this more often, and I really hope I end up doing that. I love y'all, have a good day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Germany sits in on another meeting of the original states, a flashback to when Montana went as Monuel (Her name is Monika), and the plot thickens.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“They’re against us, I can be reasonably sure that one or both of them harbor England and Canada.” Germany watches as Massachusetts tries to puff herself up, crossing her arms as she stands at the head of the table, “For this I propose the immediate removal of Callie and Austin from the situation, as previously suggested by Alex.” His eyes are drawn to two things, the very visible guns adorning the girl, and aforementioned New York looking solemnly to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Germany! </span>
  <em>
    <span>America’s children are scary.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Italy whispers in somewhat terrible German, but he has to agree. Each fairly weak teenage nation comes together with a strange strength, almost as if they will tear themselves apart before the enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the more effective implementation of the removal we must work to our strengths and their disadvantages, one of them being knowledge of their abilities and fears. Callie has been shown to have a revival time of just under twenty four hours, where Austin displays closer to thirty six. This is not a viable option, unless we plan to execute the second phase remarkably quickly.” Italy is overtly scared by this statement, and he finds himself disturbed by the callousness they treat death with. Germany remembers a time in which Prussia would measure such things, but it was always bittersweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the use of the revival time to remove them from the situation entirely seems to be viable. So in order to properly utilize this we must first decide how much time we are willing to allocate to the second phase.” Massachusetts uncovers a sort of chart, he strains to read all of the protocols there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pennsylvania rolls his eyes, “If we’re removing all the people who dare challenge the great Massachusetts. Then we might as well just dump their followings as well, heck might as well get Dad out of the way too.” he mocks, but serious enough that Germany considers calling America. Although he does not, for he has enough common sense to know the truth. He is invited, but not welcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re cutting the head off the snake, children follow those two, children who are at their beck and call and useless without them. And if you forgot, we’re doing this for Dad.” She threatens, hand going to her modern gun. Germany reaches for Italy’s hand, preparing for the worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t consider Ian a child, I consider him the one that makes all of their plans actually work. And don’t delude yourself Abby, Dad forgave the bastards years ago. We’re doing this for us.” Pennsylvania argues, not caring that his sister reaches for her gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry that I don’t consider the great and mighty state of Iowa to be of much importance.” The girl turns, face adorned with a sickly sweet smile, “Tell me Feliciano, have you ever heard of Iowa. Do you know where it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy looks uncomfortable at the flippant use of his name, “No…” he says softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pennsylvania ignores this exchange, “I am uncomfortable at the idea of removing California and Texas, what if their absence causes our actual targets to flee. What would you do then Massachusetts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe that the danger of confronting actual nations while they have the backup of the two strongest states and their goons is more of an issue. Or do you think we can still fight them?” Massachusetts challenges</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would rather come up with a contingency plan for if the pair attempt to flee, as well as if we don’t manage to remove California and Texas on the first try. Are you alright with retribution?” Pennsylvania is sounding less and less like he shares a side with Germany, who is now more than ever against this violent act. They don’t act like nations should, America barely does as well, but they should at least know attacking a personification when you are not at war is incredibly forbidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could always postpone the revenge until after they stop protecting the targets.” Philip mutters, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pennsylvania</span>
  </em>
  <span> Germany mentally corrects, as he continues thinking. Italy’s hand is tense and desperate around his, reminding the nation that Italy is ever so much more scared than he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We simply have to choose people the two of them trust, the won’t know it’s coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sick.” Pennsylvania accuses, staring the other down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll forgive and forget.” She counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t.” They stare each other down, dominating the room in a way that Germany only just now comprehends how many other states are in the room. All of the thirteen colonies, but the only ones who had been speaking are those two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Massachusetts is the first one to break the silence, “I believe the one of us that holds Calfiornia’s trust the most is Alex. And the one who holds Texas’ trust the most is Ginny.” Both states mentioned do not object, taking the news in a sort of solemn silence too familiar to him, but Germany feels the need to interject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This has gone too far.” Germany states, ignoring both his and Italy’s fears, “I hope talking to America will give you some sense.” With that he turns around, walking to the door and vaguely wondering how he intends to navigate this maze of a house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hits the floor before he reaches the door. Her bullet kills him quickly, perfectly aimed and timed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trenches are far dirtier, wetter, and more rat infested than he expected. The whole place reeks of death, the way that a slaughterhouse can be felt. The man leading his group, a Lieutenant of some sort, had lined them up for some inane reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James starts to look around for people to talk to, and finds his eyes drawn to the peculiar soldier sitting beside him. He’s abnormally short, with blonde hair that sticks out in the brown background of the trenches, and strange reddish looking eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It strikes him right as the soldier turns to face him, that they’re just a kid. The boy still has the girlish face of youth, he is undeniably a young teen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bit young to be in a war, kid. How ol’ are ya, fifteen?” He asks, with understandable concern, wondering how the kid got here in the first place. A small part of his mind tells him to ignore this fact, although it is a part of his mind growing without his will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten. But I look old for my age, right?” The child says in an unbroken voice, “Dad always said I looked old for my age.” the kid confirms, with the repetitiveness of a child's speech. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely registers when he stands up, grabbing the boy’s arm, “Oi!” he yelps as James starts to drag him to whoever can do anything about this kid. The part of him screaming for nonaction is drowned out by his own fear of death projecting outwards..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sure have heard a slackers, but I never thought i’d see a little kid join the fight. You are crackers, you are.” He mumbles, mostly to himself although the kid picks up on it, as he maneuvers their way to the nearest officer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will let me stay. If not you, then someone else.” The little brat speaks confidently, he almost falls for it. But the hand in his grip is bone cold, all of theirs are, because the shipment of gloves didn’t come in yet and nobody cares enough. He would never wish that on a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad is here too.” He mumbles, almost under his breath. James dare not consider his younger brother may do the same because he left. He dare not think how many kids must have tried the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take them long to find the nearest officer, a stout man that must be nearing his forties with an unkempt mustache. “What’s the issue here privates?” He asks, not noticing the obvious child at James’ side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the issue! They let a little boy fight!” He protests, directing attention to the beaming boy. His uniform is baggy, his shoes look like they barely stay on, his hat falls over his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Boy,” The officer bends down, like many men do in the presence of small children. James spots a faded </span>
  <em>
    <span>Officer Ronald Johnson</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the lapels, “where are your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy grins a shark toothed smile, and roots around his backpack. The kid draws out a somewhat crumpled, although intimidatingly official, document. “Here you go mister.” He thrusts the papers into the officer’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mister Johnson places small round glasses on his nose to read the paper, “Now this doesn’t explain any-” he pauses, rereading something on the page. “Wait here sirs.” The officer swiftly leaves the room, James and the kid left there alone together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid tugs on his arm, surprisingly delicately, as soon as the officer leaves the room. In response James tightens his grip. It would do no good for the kid to be left in a French war zone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looks up at him, and he realizes he probably shouldn’t keep referring to him as ‘the kid’, “What is your name?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mon-” he falters, “uel. Monuel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t mean Manuel?” James asks, doubting that any parent would name their child Monuel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looks James right in the eyes without blinking, “Nope. Monuel. You are James.” he says, then grins. The whole experience leaves James with chills, and a glance confirms that he has no name badge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re from Montana.” Monuel says this as if it is a decent explanation, “I am.” he continues. Under the light the kid’s eyes look even more red than before, and the hair even whiter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Montana is the best state! My favorite day is November 8th, because that's when Montana became a state! It’s my birthday, of course.” Monuel rambles on, leaving James to realize that kids are very strange, “What’s your favorite thing about Montana?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-h I like it because it’s home kid.” The officer still hasn’t come back yet, but James wants to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. My favorite number is five hundred thousand, five thousand, four hundred thirty two. What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ninety nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s the year when you were born.” The kid confirms, likely just a guess because he is obviously eighteen. He is obviously eighteen in the same way the kid is obviously just ten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around, and taps his foot on the ground. Somewhat at a loss with how to talk to children he doesn’t know, James asks, “So … uh … what is your dad’s name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid perks up, “You won’t send me back, right?” he asks, pouting until James gives a curt nod. “Dad’s name is Alfred, Alfred Jones.” So the kid’s name is Monuel Jones, he wants to meet the mysterious father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swings open, a surprisingly fast return for the Officer. He is trailed by one at a far higher rank than he. James doesn’t even know how to read all of the stars on that uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re allowed to continue fighting.” The higher ranked man says, “You have been assigned to the 22cd Division.” He orders the pair of them, shrewd eyes and a strong gaze. With that he leaves, obviously thinking his time is worth more than their presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James finds himself protesting before he can think, “You can’t let this happen, he’s a child.” The Officer glares, and James realizes that in the military he isn’t supposed to be disobedient. He heard the tales of French soldiers executed for the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my decision. If you know what’s good for you you will keep your mouth shut.” The man orders, displeased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Sir.” He responds, not letting his grip on the child’s arm weaken.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t deny that the kid became somewhat of a mascot to their division, somehow braver than the rest of them combined. Childhood insolence, a sort of optimism that wasn’t beaten down. And somehow James felt like he was so much braver with the kid beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like being invulnerable, stuck in a bunker with Monuel felt secure. Like the bombs would never rain down upon them, ones that haunted other’s but never their dreams. He heard stories about what would plague the others, shell shock, where they could never stop their arms and legs from shaking. But they never plagued him, and never his division. With the kid it felt like home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was that reason he never felt scared, never looked down the barrel of a gun and thought he would breathe his last. Because every time someone would notice, the kid would tackle him to the ground so the bullet just barely scraped his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The war was never as bad as the others would say. The ground never felt as wet, the rats never felt as disgusting, the bombs were never as terrifying, the food never as bland, the waits never as boring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On that magical, fateful day that the war ends, James may not know what to do with himself. He felt like he found a purpose, one that new fathers would preach about. He didn’t know how he could ever say goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Three of them are eating near the tents, James, Monuel, and Reggie, when a pair of strange men walk out of the forest. The first is a blond, blue eyed, pale man, and the second is a red eyed albino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reggie looks up at them, paying the pair more attention than the rest of them combined, “Monuel, c’mon. Is that your ol’ man?” he asks, pointing at the blond man, “Or is he your ol man?” he asks, pointing at the albino one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reggie look at those two, the kid is young but not that young.” James snaps back, but he has to admit there is a familiar resemblance. He looks over, the pair can’t be much older than James, maybe in their early twenties. They could pass as his brothers, or his uncles. Even down to the strange reddish eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have no idea who they are.” Monuel responds, surprisingly curt, so James can just hear the lie in his voice. He snorts, but otherwise focuses on his food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your dad’s name?” Reggie asks, but Monuel remains silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred Jones,” James responds, looking again at the pair as they continue to loiter around, “I bet they’re his older brothers. God knows that I have brothers his age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You two!” Reggie shouts, startling the men and Monuel. James doesn’t have time to react as the kid darts away, but the men definitely spot the darting child. Reggie continues calling them over, waving obnoxiously and everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m talking to you albino man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” James almost flinches, he didn’t even know German immigrants could join the army. Maybe he was one of those ruffians from the German towns in the Midwest, or the man is trying to hide his German accent. Either is a shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sup?” Reggie continues, sizing the men up in a way that must make them uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is all good.” The blond one says, obviously a German immigrant. He’s tall, muscular, blond and blue eyed. The man makes him uneasy in the same way Monuel rarely does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know an Alfred Jones?” James asks, and gets surprisingly strong reactions. The blond one raises his eyebrows to an absurd degree, and the albino one breaks out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know him? HA! Of course I know that brat.” The albino one jokes, grinning immensely, “I taught him how to shoot, without me he wouldn’t even be here”. He hears a startled noise from behind him, but the shock of whitish hair is gone before he realizes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruder.” The blond one sternly orders, “We do know him.” he continues. He is probably the older brother, by a fair number of years if James had to guess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you like his brother or something? You look an awful lot like his kid.” Reggie asks, knowing the answer already, “He’s like yay tall,” he shakes a hand around his chest, “Whiteish hair, reddish eyes, your face.” Reggie points to the blond one, gesturing vaguely at his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” The blond one confirms dismissively, “I did not know Am-Alfred had a child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is the kid?” The albino one asks, craning his neck to look around the clearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monuel does not return to them until the brothers have truly left, until the sun has set and they are alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Jimmie, aren’t kids supposed to grow like weeds?” Reggie asks, sitting on the muddy floor next to the sleeping kid. The kid looks ridiculous as always, swimming in the uniform that never fit right, limbs strewn everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe being in a war stunted his growth.” James remarks, but the kid isn’t skinny enough for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s how that works.” Reggie corrects, “He’s ten right? When’s he supposed to turn eleven?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“November eighth.” James answers, just a few short days away. They say the war will end soon, maybe the war will end on that day. What a gift it would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well we gotta plan something. Already sad enough to spend your birthday in a trench.” He stands up for a moment, walks around the area, and then sits back down. All looking very pointless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do. It matters to kids their age. My little brother used to pitch a fit if I forgot.” James admits, wistfully thinking to the brother who he knows less than Monuel. Hoping that Glen never tried what Monuel did, hoping this kid is the only one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what do you know how to do?” Reggie complains, “I’m useless, factories never taught me anything.” he doesn’t add that schools never taught them this either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how to whittle.” James contributes, digging through his pack for a suitable knife, but not looking very hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, good idea.” Reggie makes a show of trying very hard to think, rubbing his head and everything, “he really likes those cats wandering around, doesn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ill do that, maybe you should write a card or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do, sir.” Reggie salutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid!” Reggie shouts at the crack of dawn next morning, probably waking up half the division while he’s at it. They probably wouldn’t be all too mad, everyone has a fondness for Monuel, “Do you know what day it is!” he continues when the kid blearily opens his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remembered! The day Montana became a state!” He cheers, a giant grin and puffy cheeks, scrambling to wrap Reggie in a legendary hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your birthday Monuel, happy birthday!” James offers, patting the kid’s hair to get his attention. The present in his pocket is not much, but he hopes the kid likes it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monuel turns around, latching onto James with another strong hug, “That too!” he says, muffled into James’ uniform jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits until the kid lets go of him to offer the gift, “Here, I made this for you.” James fishes the carved cat from his pocket. Shaped to look like a sitting kitten, there is a certain charm even without fancy materials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it!” The kid hugs him again, and James can’t comprehend his life without the kid around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>America’s children are playing a game with him, he does not care to remember the name of the game or the rules, and would assume this is the ‘monopoly’ he’s heard so much about. The taller one, a child who could pass for his own son, is yawning every few moments; the smaller one is laying up against the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places down another card, and looks over to the children. He does not know what to do with such strange beings, although he is an older brother, Belarus was not much the younger. It cannot hurt to let them sleep here, although the taller is still drowsily taking turns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Checkmate.” He notifies the boy when he places another red brick in the other’s path. It is a lie, he does not think this is a guaranteed win, but the game became dull hours ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired.” The boy whines, Russia looks out to the bright morning light shining through the window and thinks that is very reasonable indeed. “Lilo wake up,” the boy kicks her lightly on the shin, “we have to go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna.” The girl whines, and the boy looks over at Russia pleadingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will help.” He decides, because Alaska should have stayed his, and maybe then he would have a son. Gathering both of them into his arms, he takes Alaska’s directions back to their bedrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s interrupted from sleep from the sounds of his door being violently swung open, the handle striking the wall in a way that produces a worryingly loud sound. He doesn’t open his eyes until someone sits on his bed, although he could tell it was Olive anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Callie never came back last night.” She whispers, and that’s such a stupid revelation that Ian decides to roll over and go back to sleep right then and there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I’m serious!” she yelps, trying to tug his shoulder back. She messes up in some way that results in him tumbling ungracefully to the floor, resulting in the fact that he was definitely awake now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that for!” Ian protests, noticing that it’s so early Olive is still dressed in her ‘I love Oklahoma’ pajamas. He rubs his head and stands up slowly, trying not to feel overly frustrated with her at the fact the clock reads 7:30 am, “She prolly just slept somewhere else after she made up with Alex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Callie ain’t answering her phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s normal.” He can’t count on both hands and feet how many times Callie has forgotten her phone, let alone how she wasn’t one to be up at such an ungodly early hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian doesn’t really want to leave his room, but Olive decides to tug him into the common area anyway, “Oh-oh and Ian I checked Callie’s room and uncle Mattie was in there, he says Abby tried to kill him.” she drops that bombshell on him, then darts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day feels so utterly surreal that it may as well be a dream. Ian decides not to process anything this early in the morning. Some old doritos lie on the table next to a couch, so he claims them as his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian faintly hears what could be discerned as ‘Eh?’ from one of the rooms in front of him. He doesn’t have to think about it for long as Olive returns, dragging a reluctant Canada behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are Lilo and Andrew?” Ian says as soon as he thinks it, their rooms are open, and even so, the younger states are usually up by this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhh…?” Olive responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Canada asks.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry y'all that this was late, but comments are still my lifeblood and my soul so i'd love if you did such. I recently (like a couple months ago but like still) posted a fic i'm really proud of, read it! It's called "Out of Place" and its about America who travels back in time to the revolutionary war. Ok, sorry I didn't post for awhile, maybe the stars will align and ill post again soon. If you have any fic recs, I still love to hear them, and and comments or suggestions on this are highly appreciated! Have a good year!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do write fics upon request, if anyone wants to request some Hetalia fics I may write them! I really really hope you like this, and want to know any thoughts you have! This is my first fic that I intend to be long in the Hetalia fandom! Id still love to hear anything at all from y'all, cause this fandom is like medium dead and I live for comments.<br/>This fic is inspired by:<br/>"He belongs to the world" by StarfireXL<br/>and<br/>"The United States of Chaos"<br/>Go read those as well, they're really good!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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